


Kickstart my Heart

by TheWiseMansFear



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: AU, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, aka Tomik is a little schemey and controlling and Ral is arrogant and loud, canon-divergence, guild-typical personalities, kind of, they won't hurt each other though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWiseMansFear/pseuds/TheWiseMansFear
Summary: Tomik Vrona is a man well accustomed to getting what he wants.What he wants is Ral Zarek.Takes place just after Liliana whisks Jace off to Kaladesh.





	1. Blunt Force Drama

     “We don’t have any need of him,” Teysa said, her dark eyes gone amber in the honeyed light coming in through the stained glass.  
      He lifted his chin, not quite high enough to present defiance, but enough to let her know it was forthcoming. “Not yet, no.”  
      The woman’s lip curled and she sat forward, feet apart, leather gloves creaking as she placed both hands on the head of her cane. “He is _loud_.”  
      “As are his explosives and his storm magic,” he countered. “Both of which I’d prefer not to be on the receiving end of again.”  
      It was never a good thing when Teysa Karlov smirked. “Ah,” she clucked, “so that’s it. He owes you.”  
      He shifted, the lattice work of scars across his back and shoulders pulling as he did so. “Yes.”  
      “And you intend to collect how?”  
      “Does it matter?” Of course, he knew it did, but he was feeling rather petulant today.  
      “He is one of Izzet’s highest ranking mages.”  
      “I’m aware,” he sighed.  
      “There is a Guildpact now. Caution is required.”  
      “I don’t intend to harm him.”  
      “Oh?” Teysa chuckled, a dark, thick rumble not unlike a purr. “Well then, do as you like. I trust your actions to be in the guild’s best interest.”  
      Yes, yes. As if he would ever do otherwise. “Always,” he assured her coolly. “I’ll keep you updated.”  
      “See that you do.”  
      Turning on his heel, he made his way down the carpeted knave.  
      “Oh and Mik?” she called after him, “do be careful trying to wrap that one around your finger. I suspect you’re more likely to lose an arm.”  
      It was his turn to smirk. “Then it will be _you_ he owes.” And there were few things worse than that.  
      Her concordance was laced with malice. “Indeed.”  
      He felt her approving gaze on him as he proceeded outside, stepping down into the street where his– _a_ gargoyle awaited. His gargoyle had died in the fall.  
      Mounting with a grace brought on by long practice, he urged the beast skyward.  
      Tomik Vrona was a man well accustomed to getting what he wanted.  
      Today, what he wanted was Ral Zarek.

_

      Ral stalked down the dark street, frustration sending sparks from the ends of his fingers.  
      _“You. Kaladesh. Let’s go.”_ The woman’s words played again and again in his head.  
      And Jace had just– just _gone_. The absolute fool!  
      A stray lightning bolt arched from his palm, grounding itself into a nearby market stall.  
      Tezzeret was on Kaladesh. And Vraska had run off into nowhere with the thaumatic compass. Even with the tinkering Ral had done to it, there was no way to be sure the gorgon wouldn't jar the cog back into place again. He’d needed to manipulate Jace into going after her. He needed her stopped. If Bolas got hold of the Immortal Sun, he’d lose all control over the situation.  
      And he didn’t even want to think about Niv.  
      Or about the hopeless slaughter Jace was walking into.  
      Or the piles of paperwork he should be doing right now.  
      Dammit.  
      This double-agent thing was getting messy and not in the fun way. So much was riding on unknown variables, on the actions of other people. And other people had always failed him before.  
      “Ral Zarek?”  
      Lifting his gauntlet and readying for an attack, Ral looked up to see who’d spoken.  
      Brown eyes went gray in the storm-light, strong features made more forceful by the shadows. His heart staggered, beating at his sternum as though trapped in a Dimir catacomb, as if it were a stolen thing, not at all where it belonged. He should not have liked that feeling.  
      “Who are you?” he asked as the stranger took step forward, his voice nowhere near as thunderous as he’d intended.  
      “Tomik Vrona.”  
      “Teysa’s whelp?”  
      Full lips twitched upward briefly. “And here I thought you were ignorant.”  
      Ral narrowed his eyes, if only to convey the annoyance his befuddled brain should have been feeling. Instead, it was trying to parse out the exact curve of the Advokist’s form beneath those infernal white robes. Why did every good looking guy in Ravnica wear so many layers?  
      “What do you want?” he huffed. “I’m busy.”  
      The man’s chin lifted a little. And dammit if defiance didn’t make the bastard more alluring. “Are you?”  
Was he? The answer was decidedly yes, and yet his reply held a hint of hesitation he knew better than to think the other man would not hear. “I am. Very, in fact.”  
      “I see.” And Ral did not doubt that the man did indeed see, right through him. “Are you too busy to eat?”  
What. “Excuse me?”  
      “Has all that thunder damaged your ears? I asked, are you too busy to eat?”  
      Sparks passed between his palms. “With you?”  
      “Ideally.”  
      Oh well, wasn’t that just the best bad idea ever? He did so love the color red and right now every flag in his head was waving in various shades of it.  
      “I could eat,” he decided, unable to remember the last time he’d done so. “But it’s sort of late.”  
      “Yes,” Vrona agreed, folding his hands in the sleeves of his robes. “It took longer than I expected to locate you. I tried your offices first.”  
      “You what?”  
      The man’s stoic expression told him he did not intend to repeat himself.  
      “You can’t just go to my office!”  
      “And why not?” It was a challenge. Not a question. “We have a Guildpact now. Would cooperation between the Izzet and the Orzhov not please him?”  
      “How should I know what would please him?” Ral spat, though he was pretty sure a violent, bloody death in Kaladesh wasn’t going to. He didn’t want to think of that and quickly rerouted his focus. “Is this just a guild thing, or is it something else? Because if this is guild-related, feel free to make an appointment, otherwise–”  
      “Tonight is not a guild thing.”  
      “So, what is it then?”  
      “A date, if you must have a label.”  
      “A date?”  
      “Do you always mimic things that are spoken to you? I imagine your dragon finds that rather annoying. You must be valuable indeed, to still have your head.”  
      “He prefers the mid-sections,” Ral snorted without thinking. “He likes to put the brains in jars.”  
      Tomik smiled and he felt an electricity wholly apart from the ever-present storm in his bones. This man was dangerous but not in the way he was used to. The Advokist’s chaos was quiet, a miscalculation in the formula or a grim whisper in his ear.  
      Deadly. Devastating. Distracting.  
      Ral liked it.  
     

     Worse, he was curious.


	2. Cock Tease Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there are sure to be typos. 
> 
> Also, I promise they're going to like each other eventually.

     The pub was derelict by Orzhov standards. No shimmer of gold, no fine silver or velvet cushions. The chairs creaked. The tables were unpolished and the only silk in sight was that of the spiderwebs in the rafters. But it’d been closest to where he’d found Zarek and the wine was only a little watered. It would serve his purpose well enough.  
      Ral had finished his meal in a matter of minutes and was currently on his fifth beer, the subtlety of his gaze decreasing with each tankard. Tomik chased a dumpling around his plate, perfectly comfortable being analyzed. After all, he’d spent the better part of his life under the scrutiny of others. So what if Ral’s eyes were infinitely more alive than the rest? He could withstand it.  
      Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what the other man’s findings might be.  
      Could the mage see the anger he kept iced beneath his skin? Did he notice the painful way he moved, injuries aching as the night grew darker? Was the man cataloging every bite he took and weighing the mounting malice in each trek of fork to mouth?  
      Or– he noted the nearness of Ral’s leg to his, the small flush that moved across the man’s face when his own knee fell against it–was he the subject of a more carnal research?  
      It was a theory easily tested.  
      “Ral,” he hummed, drawing the single syllable out and artfully turning his utensil over, allowing his tongue to slowly clean the dressing from the tines.  
      “Yeah,” his companion muttered. “What?”  
      He’d planned to say something with a touch of soft prurience but instead he opened his mouth and weakness fell out. “I don’t suppose you remember wrecking an Azorious aerie a few months back? With a storm elemental, I believe it was?”  
      “I can’t see how that’s any of the Orzhov’s business.” Ral licked his lips and finished off his drink.  
      Tomik watched the bob of his Adam’s apple with mounting interest, deigning to give a small shrug despite the uncomfortable pull on his spine. “It isn’t.”  
      “Then what do you care?” the mage questioned, gesturing at the untouched chunk of bread at his elbow. “You gonna eat that?”  
With a great deal more care than the action required, Tomik took the bread and broke it in half, offering the larger of the two to his companion.  
      “Forgive me,” he said, tone low and rumbling around the edges. The feeling of satisfaction when Ral hesitated was going to fuel Tomik for days. Days. He allowed the corner of his mouth to curl as their fingertips brushed. “I was only trying to make conversation. You were doing such a thorough study of my mouth, I thought speaking might increase the quality of the results.”  
      Zarek’s thick brows shot up and sparks crackled around their fingers, toasting the bread and causing Tomik to retract his touch.  
      “Honestly,” Ral grinned, “I was just wondering if it were capable of making a sound that wasn’t so gods-damned pretentious. I have to deal with enough of that from Niv, you know.”  
      He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Not with his heart in his throat, not when the entire world was on its side. Heat washed over him, but it was followed by the cold clutching of fear. His pulse was in his ears, roaring like the wind and crashing like thunder. Somehow, though, he could still hear Nyla’s shrieking.  
      “Hey.” Strong fingers closed over his wrist. “What’s your problem?”  
      “You,” he hissed, all his control stripped away. Again. By those same hands. “You are my problem.”  
      Well. He hoped the mood had Afterlife, because he’d just killed it.  
      Ral’s features went from concerned to confused to annoyed just as quickly as his lightning had wrecked Tomik’s life.  
      “You’re not the first to say so,” the man snorted, rising sloppily, long legs unsure. “As much as I’d like to let you air your grievances, I’ve got things to do. All of which, if not half as pretty, are far more important than you are.”  
      “No.” Now it was Tomik’s turn to reach out. “I–” Where were his words? He gritted his teeth. Taken. Like the rest of it. His grip on Ral’s forearm tightened. “Wait.”  
      The man tried to pull free, anger flashing in his eyes when Tomik’s grip did not come loose. “Let go.”  
      “Sit down,” he urged, reason trickling back in through the rubble of his ruined head. “You’re making a scene.”  
      “Yeah,” Ral snapped, “that’s kind of my thing. Now let go.”  
      Tomik released him, defeated.  
      “Word of advice,” the storm-mage whispered, planting both hands on the table and leaning in close, so close that Tomik could feel the static on his skin. “Next time you wanna get laid, skip the weird Orzhov mating ritual.”  
      The table shook as the man pushed off of it, spilling Tomik’s wine and leaving a crackling energy in the air as he left.  
      He watched the spill of red encompass the table.  
      _A gathering puddle of blood surrounding a tangle of limbs._  
      He watched it dribble from the wooden surface and onto the floor.  
      _Rain on the rooftops as he lay half-conscious._  
      He heard commotion outside, raucous and virulent.  
      _Ral Zarek, unbothered. Untouched._  
      Unacceptable.  
      Throwing a handful of coin on the table, he struggled to his feet, wounds protesting and robes catching on the table end. The barkeep was watching, the other patrons whispering. He didn’t care.  
If he failed in this, he may as well have died.

     Ral was drunk. Not like, _fall-down-and-die-in-a-ditch_ drunk, but definitely _stagger-into-a-Gruul-ogre-and-call-him-ugly_ drunk. Which was why there was a large stick currently coming at his face.  
      Dodging the blow with the grace of a man with double-vision, he pondered exactly how it had come to this. Only an hour ago, he’d been certain he was going to get fucked. And not in the way this ogre had in mind.  
      He fell sideways into a collection of trash barrels and shot lightning haphazardly in the brute’s direction.  
      And a date? How ridiculous. What had he been thinking?  
      Oh yeah. That Tomik Vrona had a perfect cock.  
      He couldn’t know that of course, but the supporting evidence was all there. The man had big, soft hands, delicate fingers with bruising strength, proportionate limbs, gorgeous mouth and that ass. Yes, there was a discovery to be made beneath those robes and it was a shame he hadn’t gotten his hands on it.  
      The ogre’s stick glanced off his gauntlet, and he cursed, rolling out of the way of a large green fist.  
      Maybe he’d track the advokist down again later and test the hypothesis.  
      First though, he would have to survive this, and then, you know, _an apocalypse_.  
      A storm seemed a good place to start. His gauntlet was damaged but hell, what were a few extra sparks? He began down the street, ogre plodding after him as he gathered his magic. The air sang with energy around him, absorbing into his flesh and digging deeper, to coil in his innards, hot and angry.  
      And gods, he was angry too. Angry at Niv for never recognizing his strengths. Angry at Bolas for using him and making him powerless. Angry at Jace for stepping all over an honor Ral would have cherished. Angry at this world he loved too much to leave.  
      He felt the slight lift beneath his feet, the ogre’s shouting lost in the thrumming hiss of power all around him. His vision went static white. He felt the rain on his face, the wind in his hair. Everything became noise and light and rage.  
      “Don’t!” Someone tackled him. Too small to be the ogre, yet the contact sent the air from his lungs and with it, the life from the storm.  
“You idiot! How dare you!”  
      He blinked open his eyes to see a very upset Tomik sitting on his chest, one hand spread wide over his sternum, the glow of magic illuminating the palm. “What the hell–”  
      “Did you not even stop to think about the other people around you?” The advokist growled, rain wet hair clinging to his face and white robes sopping heavily over heaving shoulders. “You bastard. You– you could have–”  
      “Yeah, yeah, okay, but what happened to the ogre?” Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looked carelessly around the law-mage perched atop him. “Wow. Nice,” he whistled, seeing the ogre beating on the walls of a translucent cage. “Ghost prison? That’s some high level stuff.”  
      “It won’t hold long,” Tomik breathed, moving off of him with a wince. “Let’s go.”  
      Ral was about to argue when one of the ogre’s fists penetrated the barrier.  
      On any normal night, he’d just turn around and fry the thing, but his gauntlet was busted making precision difficult, a poor situation aided by his lingering buzz and the alarming fact that he couldn’t summon any energy.  
      The other man grabbed his hand and urged him to move. “Now!”  
      It was then that he recalled the faint glow of Tomik’s hand earlier and balked. “What did you do to me?”  
      “It’s a Silence binding,” the man informed, pulling him down the street. “It’ll wear off in a few minutes.”  
      “Silence? I thought that only worked on spells! My storm magic is–”  
      “An ability. Yes. I’m aware. I tampered with the construction a bit.” Tomik took a sharp turn down a narrow alley and Ral grunted as he ricocheted off the wall before being dragged along with him. “It’s all perfectly legal. I assure you.”  
      “I don’t care about the legality of it! Just take it off!”  
      “Can’t,” the man panted, slowing significantly, face twisting as if he were in pain. “It wears off on its own.”  
      Ral took that in for a minute and then decided his curiosity outweighed his annoyance, if only by a smidge. “I’ve never seen that done before. Do you know how useful that would be How exactly did you manage to twist the geomatr–”  
      “Stop.” Tomik sagged heavily against the building nearest them, tugging weakly at the neck of his robes as though he couldn’t breathe. “Just– shut up for a minute.”  
      “Are you okay?”  
      “No. Now, be quiet.”  
      Faintly, Ral could hear the ogre crashing through the streets beyond. “Sounds like he’s off our trail.”  
      “Let’s be sure.” Tomik closed his eyes and summoned a pale, flickering orb of energy, his full lips miming words Ral felt more than heard the power behind.  
      As magic spilled from the advokist’s hands, Ral took the meager half-pace to the opposite wall were he stood, transfixed, as the magic dripped from Tomik’s fingertips like liquid moonlight. The sight raised the hair on his arms, eliciting a primal fear that he didn’t know what to do with. This, what he was seeing, was something _else_ , something _beyond_. This magic crossed boundaries even he had no want to trample on.  
      Tomik was reaching his hands into the void and bringing life from death.  
      “Distract the ogre,” the law-mage murmured, his face gone nearly as gray as the three spirits forming before him. “Lead it away, back to Gruul territory, if you can.”  
      The ghosts hovered for an instant and then they were gone.  
      A short stretch of quiet lingered in their wake, only broken when Ral noticed Tomik’s shallow breathing. “That was some spell,” he said, moving closer– to do what, he wasn’t yet sure. “It was...”  
      “Spectral Procession,” the advokist supplied shakily.  
      “I meant– nevermind.” It wasn’t in Ral’s nature to feel worried about a stranger, or anyone, really, but here he was, feeling all conflicted. “What’s wrong? Did the ogre hit you?”  
      Tomik shook his head and brushed away the hand Ral hadn’t noticed he’d offered. “No. You did.”  
      “Me?” He ran through the last few minutes as best as his inebriated mind would allow, which, granted, was still pretty good. “I don’t think so. You were the one doing the tackling.”  
      “Just forget it.” The man lurched away from the wall and took a few steps toward the mouth of the alley. “I have work in the morning.”  
      “Hold up. I have questions!” An ever growing list of them. “And what the hell was tonight all about? Do you really just expect me to let you walk away after all of that?”  
      He was surprised when Tomik turned on him and even more so by the seething agitation in his words. “I’ve come to expect so little of you, Zarek, that even the Izzet could not create a device delicate enough to record the measurement.”  
      Ral opened his mouth to snarl something indelicate but Tomik stifled it with his own. It took a long, illuminated moment before Ral understood that he was being kissed. If it could be called that. It was a hungry, desperate thing and he accepted it as he would a challenge, reacting to the turn of events with equal fervor.  
      Bewildered but wanting more of that tongue sucking salve the advokist was offering so freely, Ral fought back with teeth and tongue. He gave the man every ounce of bitterness he harbored and Tomik took it with a glorious, welcoming indulgence.  
      It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. There was no reason. No logic. No thought to cost, only the desire to pay it in any way he could. Hell, Ral would have let Tomik devour him right then and there if he’d asked, heart and soul and every inch of flesh. For the first time in his life, the why and how of a thing didn’t matter.  
      He didn't know if it was the meticulous working of Tomik’s hands over his chest or the battling of their lips that did it, but as the minutes began to pass away, so did the outside world. The soul-sucking dread that had been hanging over him as diligently as any rain-cloud had gone. The fear, the worry, everything. Tomik had chased it away with a firm, greedy mouth and fingers that caught and held in his tunic.  
      It was a strange revelation indeed, to find that he thoroughly enjoyed having his existence narrowed to something as debase as this. Ral Zarek, having no greater purpose than to let an Orzhov lawman hate-fuck him in a dark alley. He didn’t know if he’d fallen hard or finally transcended.  
      Eventually the need to breathe forced them apart, a sunderance that gave Ral a good vantage from which to admire Tomik’s darkly flushed cheeks and red, swollen mouth.  
      Gods. The beautiful bastard had no idea how thankful he was in that moment, how relieved. The man had offered him an escape, however temporary and it took all of Ral’s remaining sense to keep from telling him so. That was simply not something you told a stranger.  
      "You seem confused,” Tomik rasped, looking as pained as he did pleased.  
      Ral let out a grunt as he was spun and shoved into the wall, face pressed to the wet brick. Any protests he emitted were strictly compulsory and were quickly quieted as Tomik moved in tight against him.  
      “Allow me to clarify,” the man whispered, slipping an arm down and around Ral’s waist to get to the growing bulge between his legs.  
      He grinned devilishly, shooting Tomik a heated look from over his shoulder and pressing his arousal into the man’s hand, effectively trapping it against the cold stone.  
      “Are you trying to scare me?” He pressed his hip forward to rut against the advokist’s palm. “Or fuck me?”  
      “You think I can’t do both?” Tomik hummed, free hand raking through the hair at the back of Ral’s head, firmly returning his cheek to the stone while unfastened Ral’s trousers with the other.  
      “Quite the contrary,” Ral huffed, shoving the waist of his pants off of his hips, mind in a whirl as blood rushed to his groin. He hadn’t expected this and the thrill was chased through his veins, alighting his nerves with adrenaline and need.  
      He stilled as a cool hand wrapped around his cock, the ridge of Tomik’s own erection hard against the small of his back.  
      A group of Rakdos passed by the mouth of the alley, obliviously hooting and schreeching, but Tomik didn’t falter. He stroked once, twice, rolled his wrist to circle Ral’s tip in his palm and then tightened his fist, dragging it slowly back down.  
Ral swallowed a moan as Tomik lowered his mouth to his temple, and for a moment he thought the advokist might bend to kiss him. His heart missed a beat, pulse thumping so hard it was painful, but no more so than the throb of his cock as the man ran a tongue around the shell of his ear instead, teasing the lobe between his teeth.  
      It could only be luck that the law-mage knew exactly how to undo him.  
      He shuddered as his partner’s panted breath caused hair to flutter against his cheekbone.  
      A familiar pressure began to build in his belly and he moaned into the gritty stone, fucking the man’s hand with as much ardor as the firm grip allowed.  
      “Good,” Tomik breathed, nipping at the flesh just behind the hinge of Ral’s jaw, lips grazing over the stinging left there as he spoke. “I want you to say my name when you cum,” he demanded. “Like a prayer, understand?”  
      Ral’d never been the pious type, but this man was as good an idol as any. Tomik would at least hear him when he asked for something and it seemed very little to ask in return for all he was giving. His consent was more a gasping snarl, but the advokist caught his meaning.  
      His knees felt weak, Tomik pumping him harder now, with purpose. Finally they seemed to be working toward the same goal and that made his head swim. His listlessness must have shown, because man slipped an arm around his waist, supporting him as the pleasure melted his bones.  
      “I want to hear it,” Tomik reminded, cementing the command with a quickened tempo and a firm press of hips into Ral’s ass.  
      “Yes,” he groaned, growing more and more remorseful for not having pushed for more than this with each efficient upstroke. It was gloriously unfair what this man could do with just a hand. Ral couldn't fathom what he might be capable of with his cock or, _oh gods_ , his _mouth_.  
      The imagining brought him the rest of the way and he leaned his head back against Tomik’s collarbone, opening his mouth to grant the man's request. “Tom-”  
      Tomik let go and stepped away so quickly that Ral staggered to the side, pants around his ankles and fell to his ass. He panted, angry and dazed and painfully deprived.  
      “You owe me, Zarek,” the man stated, cold gaze aimed down his nose. “And that debt will increase for every day you spend not knowing why.”  
      “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he growled, shuffling back into his pants. “We don’t even know each other!”  
      The man turned and began toward the street. “You’re the genius,” he called. “Figure it out.”


	3. Of Ghosts and Gargoyles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short but I couldn't get this idea out of my head and wanted to put it out there as soon as possible. The next chapter will be longer and infinitely more steamy.

     He’d designed this room. Chosen the colors, the molding, hand selected every adornment. It had been a refuge, a haven against the prying eyes of the masses. A place where he could be who and what he wanted.

     Tomik glowered at the wall because the window only showed him days of waiting to die rather than the blue sky beyond it. The chair he’d slept in was as stiff as his back, and despite the downy mattress only feet away, he couldn’t bear the thought of laying there again.

     He hated this place as much as he’d once loved it and that realization put an angry curl in the shape of his mouth.

     “Tomik,” his mother sighed, tone thick with disapproval and scowl holding more venom than any thing without corporeal form had the right to. “This behavior is very undignified.”

     “Yes, I know.”

     She hovered for a moment before moving to wisp about his shoulders. “Why not simply bill him? What’s the point of toying with him? You could easily take him for all he’s worth.”

     “Because,” he muttered, rising gingerly and making his way to the closet, "‘ _all he’s wort_ h’ entails far more than money.”

     “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” she went on, following above him, translucent hands waving. “Those Selesnya healers weren’t cheap. It would be a significant blow to the family treasury to have need of them again. And you shouldn’t be out taking such risks anyway! Not until you’ve earned Afterlife, at least. For Obzedat’s sake, Tomik, do you _know_ how hard it was to watch you lingering between?”

     “It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me either, mother.”

     “If you’re going to see him again you should at least present him with an invoice for medical expenses. Even if you need to play up the injury a little–”

     “I broke my gods-damned _spine,_ ” he growled, struggling into his robes. “There’s not much further one could take that without risking a melodrama.”

     A woman without a tongue really shouldn’t have been able to manage such a disdainful _cluck_. But she did. She always did.

     “Well,” she huffed. “I can see you’re in one of your _moods._ I swear, you’re just like your father.”

     “What about me?”

     He took a deep breath as his father materialized. “Your moods,” he clarified dryly. “Apparently I’m in one of them.”

     His mother folded her arms. “He is.”

     “Well,” his father scratched at his spectral chin, “are you nagging him?”

     “I’m expressing my concerns.”

     “I have to go to work,” he sighed, stepping around the pair – stepping through ghosts was rude– he gathered his bag and slipped into his shoes.

     “Take that gargoyle out, son,” his father called. “It’s restless.”

     “It’s a rock,” he countered.

     “Don’t be obtuse.”

     “See?” His mother said smugly. “A _mood._ ”

     His ghostly sire waved her off and looked at him. “Take the gargoyle.”

     “I don’t have to go far today. I’ll walk.”

     “Tomik–”

     “Oh, leave it for now,” his mother puffed, swatting her husband’s shoulder. “He’s afraid.” Tomik watched his mother’s fingers as they waggled near her temple. “Nightmares.”

     A sharpness shot up his spine that had nothing at all to do with it’s previous fracture. “I was told to stay active,” he breathed. “It’s exercise.”

     They both just looked at him, knowing better.

     “I’m having company tonight. Please make yourselves scarce.”

     “ _Overnight_ company?” His mother inquired. “Tomik? You’re not thinking about–”

     He took the stairs faster than was dignified and far faster than was wise, but he didn’t particularly care just then. The painful jarring of his back with each haphazard step was a good distraction from all the malcontent choking his lungs.


	4. Niceties

 

 

      Electricity curled around his fingers as he charged the prototype. For a moment he felt the tug at his spark, saw the lights, felt the exhilaration of success speeding through his veins. And then it blew up in face. Literally.

      “Hell!” he snarled, batting the device from the workbench and then reaching up to pat at the bit of hair that had caught fire. When that failed to satisfy, he flipped the table.

      He did not have time for failure and yet here he was, failing again and again and again.

      And he was tired. So tired.

      This was not even supposed to be his main focus. He wasn’t even the main engineer. But how could he leave something as important as this to any one of those other fools?

      He rubbed at his face, hand coming away black. No doubt his skin would be red with burns beneath.

      Sighing, he collected the pieces of his failure and stowed them in a locking cabinet before taking the steps up to his living quarters, or what, at least, was supposed to be living quarters. Alternatively, the space was cluttered with tools and experiments he’d put aside in favor of some thing or another that Niv ‘had to have done right away no exceptions’. They observed him with chilled judgment as he fought his way through their tangled limbs to the bathroom, a boneyard of wasted potential.

      “Looking good, Zarek,” he grumbled at his charred reflection.

      Not that he ever looked bad, but he could certainly look better.

      The water was cold and he let out a stream of hissed curses as he cleansed his face and scratched debris from his facial hair. If only he could scrub away the darkness beneath his eyes, as well. Had he eaten at all today? What day was it? What _time_ was it? Hell.

      He was salving the irritated skin across his cheekbones when something moved in the room behind him. It wasn’t the shifting of metal or the skritch of a rat on the floorboards. It was more like the leather pat of wingbeats. A bat or an imp, maybe.

      “Raaal.” A chill ran down his spine as whatever it was crowed his name. “Raaaaaaal.” Electricity crackled over his skin, crawling like the instinctive disgust the otherworldly cawing had elicited. He wasn’t in his gear. It was too bulky to wear while he was working. Of course, he could probably still manage to wound the thing, but without his accumulator he was more or less a glorified tazer. And unless the thing was incredibly soluble, raining on it to death was out of the question.

      “Raaaal.”

      Turning slowly from the mirror, he grabbed the largest, weightiest thing nearest him– a plunger– and held it ready to swing.

      Another flap, another screech of his name. And then the thing appeared. He batted it out of the air with a shout and it dropped. The scroll it’d been clutching in its ugly yellowed talons rolled across the floor to his feet. He waited for the thing to stop twitching before bending to retrieve it.

 

_**Please come to the address below at your earliest convenience. My thrull will accompany you.** _

_**–Tomik** _

 

      Ral looked at the creature skeptically and then prodded it with a booted foot. The prognosis was not a positive one. He even went so far as to rub his thumb and forefinger together and poke at its chest with a small bit of electricity. The thing did not revive.

      He sighed and looked again at the missive.

      The address would be easy enough to find. He knew his way around Ravnica as best as any one could. His gaze moved to the cluttered cot in the corner where he’d curled up more than once on top of cogs and springs, too exhausted to care.

      For a moment, a sharp, bright instant, the truth of his existence was staring back at him from every reflective metal surface. It was cold and as hollow as bird bone.

      His days were so full, but his life was empty.

      The parchment singed in his grasp and he let it burn away, shaking ashes from his fingers as the wooden center clattered to the floor.

      As much as he loved science, he really fucking hated reality.

      Turning back to the bathroom, he stripped bare, beating the dust and charred debris from his clothing before washing and dressing again. He cleaned his teeth, neatened his hair and headed for the door, scooping the dead thrull up and rolling it in a discarded rag as he passed it by.

      Twenty-three and a half minutes later he was standing outside a surprisingly modest rental property. And by modest he meant that the stoop wasn’t gilded and the knocker was brass and not silver. This was not to say the place wasn’t tidy and well kept. Quite the opposite. The walk was swept and clear of weeds, there was no rubbish laying about and flowers were growing in the tiny planter by the door. Ral was so impressed by this that he caught himself pulling a petal off a particularly lovely yellow bloom just to see if the things were real. They were.

      When he knocked, he was careful not to do so with his usual aggression. It was late and he had no desire to draw unwanted attention to this likely ill-advised meeting. Maybe it was the stress, but he’d been getting the feeling of being watched a lot lately. Even now, it felt like someone was lingering just out of sight.

      The door opened silently on well maintained hinges and a slightly ruffled Tomik filled the entry. “Ral?”

      Ral blinked, heart fluttering uncomfortably. “You summoned me.”

      And then, just like that, the soft, sleepy creature that had answered the door had gone, a stern and collected advokist in his place. “Yes. I didn’t think you were going to show up. I sent that message hours ago.”

      “I’ve been locked in a basement lab most of the day,” he glanced up at the dark sky, “and most of the night, apparently.”

      “I see.”

      They looked at each other. He shifted from foot to foot. Tomik stood still, assessing.

      Naturally, Ral felt the best remedy for an awkward silence was a corpse. “Oh,” he said, “this is yours.”

      As he took the bundle from beneath his arm, the fabric caught on the best of his accumulator and the dead thrull tumbled from it onto the well stone between them.

      Tomik bent and picked it up, surprising Ral, who had assumed the man wouldn’t want to dirty his hands, let alone get blood beneath his well manicured nails.

      “Did you have to bludgeon it to death?” the man sighed, inspecting the thing, it’s limbs swinging.

      “I used a plunger,” he corrected. “So, more like I pludgeoned to death.”

      “These are expensive,” Tomik responded curtly though Ral was sure he’d saw a slight upward turn in his mouth just before.

      “You could have gotten a courier,” Ral puffed, folding his arms and cocking his hip in a manner he hoped presented aloofness. “Or, oh I don’t know, not sent for me at all?”

      “You act displeased and yet here you are, appearing when summoned.” A brunette brow lifted. “I assume it wasn’t just to tell me off?”

      “What do you want?”

      The man turned his head, peering down the street as if he to had sensed a watchful presence. “Come in,” Tomik commanded, turning and disappearing within.

      Ral followed, pulling the door closed behind him, just catching the white of Tomik’s tunic disappearing at the top of the stairs as he did so.

      “Have you had anything to eat?” the advokist inquired from above, the sound of running water muting his tone a bit.

      “Can we skip the niceties?” he huffed, due more to the ingrained need to be difficult than any actual qualm.

      “No,” his host replied simply. “And I assume the answer is likewise.”

      Taking the stairs slowly, Ral took stock of his surroundings. “Why would you assume that?”

      “Because you’re as pale as a ghost,” the law-mage stated. “Trust me, I’m something of an expert.”

      “Did you just make a joke?”

      “Did you think me incapable of humor?”

      “Yes,” he snorted. “Absolutely, yes.”

      He topped the stairs just in time to catch the man smiling and fuck if he didn’t want to turn right back around. That smile was more devastating than a fume-high Goblin in the chemist’s wing and if it had lasted more than a milisecond, Ral was sure he’d have imploded like a dying sun.

      Trouble. He was in trouble. Abort mission. Experiment failed. Proceed to the nearest gods be damned exit.

      Of course he did the opposite and loitered like a fool at the top of the stairs.

      The apartment was sparse but tidy with an open floor plan. The kitchen, were Tomik was cutting a loaf of bread that Ral could smell from where he stood, was tucked just off to the right of the stair case, a small island with a polished counter-top separating the cooking area from the living space beyond. He took notice of the singular stool and absently wondered if the advokist was as lonely as he was and whether or not Ral had been invited to alleviate it.

      The living room held a plush looking sofa and a coffee table on one side and a desk piled high with neat paperwork on the other. Beyond that was a door which he assumed led to the bedroom.

      “Sit,” Tomik said, drawing his attention back to the kitchen.

      Ral took the lonely stool and watched as the advokist took a prim bite from a corner pf the sandwich he’d made before setting it neatly on a plate and putting it down before him.

      “Bloody Orzhov,” he muttered, trying to balm the lust blooming in his belly with snark. “You really have to take a percentage of everything, don’t you?”

      The man shrugged. “It’s hardly considered taxation if it belonged to me in the first place.”

      “I know it’s not poisoned, at least.” He was halfway through the sandwich before looking up to find Tomik standing against the counter, gaze fixed out the window. “You’re not going to eat?”

      “I eat at various times throughout the day,” the man replied, eyes still on whatever was outside. “Midnight is not one of them.”

      “It’s midnight?”

      Tomik hummed. “A little past.”

      Too curious to resist, Ral set the remains of his meal down and stood. “What are you looking at?”

      “My gargoyle seems to be wearing a hole in my yard.”

      Ral felt his brows hit hairline. He wasn’t sure what was more impressive. The fact that Tomik had a gargoyle or that the man had managed to procure property with a lawn.

      He moved to the window and peered out, intrigued. “Does it bite?”

      “Sometimes,” Tomik replied, his breath cool on Ral’s neck. “If I ask it to.”

      It was only then that he realized how close they were. “And you fly it?” he asked, unwilling to move away.

      “I do.”

      “Can we go out?”

      “You— you want to see the gargoyle?”

      He’d like to do a fair sight more than that. “Yes.” He moved away and out of the kitchen, looking for an exit. “How do we get to it?”

      “Back out the front,” Tomik replied. “There’s a gate at the side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! 
> 
> Here's some more filler. 
> 
> They're doing that slow burn thing even though I told them that only works if you haven't already had your hand on the other person's cock but neither are terribly good at taking orders. 
> 
> Also, there are definitely typos lurking throughout. Forgive a girl. I'm tired.


	5. Into the Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I KNOW it's short. I was going to just do this scene and then go straight into the next, but it's going to take me a few days to write that and it's already been a few days since I updated. The next chapter will be when Tomik tells Ral what happened to him so I wanted to not feel rushed. So, yeah, sorry. Here's more filler. 
> 
> Also, come see me on Instagram! a.e.fox90 :)

      Tomik led the way into the yard feeling wildly off-kilter. Whenever he thought he had the storm-mage where he wanted him the man adapted. Every time he tried to pin Ral down, to corner him or make him unbalanced, Ral reversed it without, or so it appeared, conscious intent. But, as frustrating as that was, it was infinitely too hard to be angry while watching a grown-ass man bounce around with an enthusiasm Tomik wasn’t sure he’d ever had, even as a child.

      “Wow,” Ral whistled, approaching the gargoyle without half the required caution. “It’s bigger than it looked from the window and look at this dent!”

      The creature opened one large eye as Ral stuck his foot to the knee in the divot it’d made in the lawn. He was tempted to call the man away, but resisted. If the idiot got himself injured, no one would blame him. Izzet curiosity killed better men than Ral Zarek every day. Still, as the gargoyle stood, Tomik found himself stepping forward, hand outstretched to snag the mage’s arm.

      Unaware, Ral moved closer to the creature and _touched it._ “Does it have a heart?” the Izzet inquired, running both hands over the beast’s stony breast. “Or is it like an automaton? Does it speak? What does it eat? How do you give it orders? Is there a saddle? What’s its wingspan? Does it have a name?”

      “Yes, no, in a way, rocks, it understands simply commands, about twenty feet and no, not yet,” Tomik snapped. “Now get away from it before she stomps you.”

      “No name?” The man looked back at him with a look of horror. “Why not?”

      He huffed and folded his arms to dissuade them from further treason. “I just got her a couple weeks ago,” he replied, watching the gargoyle’s body language shift from surprised to unease to– submission?

      “Poor pretty girl,” Ral cooed. The beast bowed its head and the mage began absently stroking its large snout, unconcerned with the animal’s snapping jaws. “Things don’t work correctly without names.”

      “She flies just fine.”

      “Oh, I bet she can do better,” the man said, standing on his toes to scratch behind the creature’s blunted horns, “can’t you Beatrice?”

      “You can’t name my gargoyle,” Tomik huffed. “And especially not Beatrice.”

      His protests had exactly zero effect and he was forced to stand there and listen to one of the most prestigious mages in Ravnica babytalk an eight-hundred pound gargoyle. A bitter thing indeed, considering the man had killed his last one.

      Resentment tightened his gut, shooing away the odd fluttering that had been there previously. “That’s enough now,” he growled. “This isn’t why I asked you here.”

      “Oh you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

      “Enough.”

      The man turned to him then, eyes alight– literally. Tomik felt a shiver run up his spine. He took a step back before catching himself and planting both feet. It was only then that he realized Ral had spoken.

      “What?” he huffed softly.

      “Can she carry two people?”

      He’d answered before he realized the implication. “Yes.”

      “Good.” Ral patted Beatrice’s neck and the creature pulled her wings from her sides with a scratchy grumble.

      “Wait, you idiot,” Tomik growled as the man climbed gracelessly onto the animal’s back. “You don’t even know how to ride her.”

      “But you do.”

      “She doesn’t have her saddle on.”

      Ral wriggled and grinned. “I don’t mind going bareback.”

      Tomik strategically ignored the double entendre. “And if we fall off?”

      “Then I die and you become a ghost.”

      “I haven’t earned Afterlife.”

      “Okay,” Ral shrugged, “so then we both die.”

      He felt his neck and face flush with anger and had to bite his tongue to keep from letting it out. Not yet. He had a plan. He wanted it to be perfect. He _needed_ it to be perfect. “Get down from there.”

      “No,” the man said, challenge clear. Beatrice pawed at the ground, impatient, dark eyes watchful. “Last chance. I think she’s going with or without you.”

      “If I do this–”

      “Yeah, yeah. Add it to my tab.”

_Don’t._ The voice in his head was screaming at him as he moved forward. _You’ll fall. You’ll die. He’ll kill you. It will hurt._

      He clicked his tongue and pointed to the ground. The gargoyle knelt for him and Ral had to cling on as the creature leaned over, allowing her wingtip to touch the ground.

_Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this._

      Tomik could feel the cold sweat breaking over his skin, felt the first tremor in his limbs that told him panic was not far behind. His chest tightened as he walked up the marbled wing and positioned himself in front of the other man.

      This was stupid. Dangerous. A gargoyle’s hide was smooth, too smooth. With no saddle to keep them secure, one false move would send them slipping into a free fall.

      “Hold on to me,” he breathed, wrapping his hands around Nyla– around _Beatrice’s_ horns.

      Ral’s arms snaked around his waist and a shiver of a completely new variety shook his bones. How long had it been since someone had put their arms around him? How long since he’d felt the heat of another person like this? Ral moved closer, chest flush against Tomik’s back, the man’s heartbeat thundering against his spine. It should have felt like warning but all he drew from it was a deeper greed.

      He _wanted_ more. He wanted to be closer, wanted to feel fingers clutching at him, tearing at his robes, running over his skin. He wanted arms around him, hips against this, mouths together. He wanted to be held, wanted truth spoken in a tone meant for lies. He wanted closeness, intimacy, real, solid, lasting.

      But not from Ral.

      It _couldn’t_ be Ral.

      Of course, all that would be null if they fell to their deaths.

      “Well, come on,” the Izzet urged. “Does it have to idle or something?”

      “You’re intolerable,” he muttered. “You know that?”

      “Being tolerated isn’t really a life goal of mine,” the mage dismissed, shifting his hips forward, snugging them against Tomik’s ass.

      He gave Beatrice the command. Ral’s grip on him tightened and Tomik had only an instant to regret his life choices before they were airborne.

      The night air was cool, whipping at his clothes and hair, reminding him of a time before fear when he’d so trustingly closed his eyes and let Nyla fly freely, simply enjoying the freedom of an open sky and the feeling of being untouchable. He’d been too far up for anyone to see his face or to hear his words. He’d tell the sky every one of Teysa’s secrets. He’d laugh openly, loudly even, at all the gravity-bound people below and smile at all the things he’d had to pretend not to find amusing throughout the day. He’d been free. Now his heart was often so heavy in his chest that he was surprised the ground would support it’s weight.

      “Thank you,” Ral murmured, lips brushing over the shell of his ear.

      Tomik tried to take a deep breath but it clung in his chest and his words exited in a tense, choked tone. “For what?”

      “For this,” his passenger hummed, the sound rumbling vibrating against his back. “Been a long week. Feels good to be above all the shit I’ve been wading through.”

      Honesty. His heart tripped. Of all the things he’d expected from Ral, that was not one of them. The man’s hands strayed up from his waist to span his rib-cage and he could almost imagine the calloused fingertips on his skin.

      “It can be better,” he found himself saying as he urged Beatrice higher.

      “Oh?” Ral’s were purring and curious. “Can it?”

      “Yes.”

      The air thinned. His pulse thundered. Ral pressed closer. He urged them still higher, stopping their ascent only when the dim lights of Ranvica looked like a spill of stars.

      “And here I thought I was the reckless one,” the man snorted into his hair.

      Tomik breathed as deeply as the atmosphere allowed and shouted, “Teysa Karlov is a scheming bitch!”

      Ral barked out a startled laugh and then followed with, “Niv-Mizzet is a pompous twat!”

      Beatrice keened, probably cursing Tomik and his neglect.

      “Pontiff Grent is fucking his new secretary!”

      “Maree sucks goblin dick!”

      “Confessor Laryn has an elf fetish!”

      “Jace Beleren reads tentacle porn!”

      Tomik turned, brows raised. “Does he?”

      Ral grinned. “I don’t know. Probably.”

      They both laughed and the sound shook something lose in Tomik’s sternum, something he needed. Something detrimental to his functioning. Ral, too, seemed shaken.

      “Do you do this often?” the man inquired, little arcs of webbed lightning crackling around him. “Come up here and scream into the wind?”

      It would be easy just to say the words at last, to explain himself, to lay his soul bare here, where gold and silver meant nothing, where dignity held no value. It would be so easy to tell Ral what he had done, _too_ easy. “I used to.”

      Ral leaned in, their noses nearly touching. “Used to?”

      Tomik shifted to face forward again. “You’re sparking,” he muttered, guiding Beatrice back in the direction of his apartment.

      “Ah, yeah sorry,” Ral sighed. “That happens sometimes.”

      Tomik said nothing.

 


	6. Calmer of Storms

 

      Ral enjoyed puzzles. He always had. During his poor excuse for a childhood, between the scrounging for food and stealing for his parents, he’d taken pleasure in taking things apart to learn how they worked. He’d invented his first accumulator at the age of ten. Granted, it had exploded on his arm, resulting in his laying in a dark alley for a few days, licking his wounds far from anyone who might inflict more. But it hadn’t stopped him from trying again and again and again until he had succeeded. He didn’t intend to stop now, either.

      He wondered what wounds of Tomik’s needed licking and if this particular riddle would be solved once they had been.

      Beatrice landed and knelt so that they could dismount. Tomik shook free of his grasp, which he’d apparently allowed to linger a second too long, and slid from the gargoyle’s back, meeting the ground unsteadily and letting out an incredibly lewd curse. Ral followed with little more elegance, annoyed to find the man already stalking to the gate.

      Making use of long legs, he caught up in a few strides and was about to take hold of the man’s arm when Tomik stalled with the gate half-open, it’s weathered wood clutched beneath a white-knuckled hand.

      Ral found himself waiting, as he did sometimes before a storm, when the air was thick and crackling, basking in the coming chaos. There was a charged silence and then the advokist spoke, voice low and rumbling like thunder in the distance. “Will you spend the night?”

      No.

      That’s what the answer should have been, because as gorgeous and intriguing as Tomik Vrona was, there were so many other things he should be doing now. He hadn’t made time for eating or sleep or even basic hygiene over the course of the last few days. That was, until this man’s thrull had broken into his hideaway, carrying with it something far more sinister than a missive: distraction.

      He needed to decline, needed to walk away.

      “That depends,” he replied instead.

      “On what?”

      “On whether or not you’re going to tell me about this debt I owe.”

      Tomik hadn’t turned to look at him and the distance between them seemed to increase by miles in the breath before his response. “I’m going to show you.”

      Well, that was– ominous.

      He followed Tomik inside nevertheless, heart racing and stomach churning with anticipation and dread. He shouldn’t be here.

      The advokist paused at the top of the stairs and looked back at him. “Leave your equipment by the door, please.”

      “This is beginning to sound a lot like an axe-murder.”

      “If I wanted you dead, I’d have shoved you from the gargoyle.”

      “I’m not going t...”

      Tomik pulled the sash from his robes and draped it over the banister, dark eyes half-lidded. “You’re not going to do what?”

      It took a moment to scrape his thoughts back together. “I don’t trust this,” he managed finally.

      “Wise of you,” the man breathed, letting his leather bracers fall to the floor. “How about we form a contract?”

      Ral watched them settle, wishing his nerves would do the same. He could feel his clothes beginning to cling as static crawled along his skin. “A contract?” he gusted. “Hell. I should have known the foreplay was going to be weird with you.”

      Tomik held out a palm and summoned white magic into its center. “What are your stipulations?”

      “You’re serious?”

      “Stipulations, Ral.”

      “Fine,” he muttered. “You can’t hurt me.”

      “In ways you don’t enjoy,” the advokist amended.

      He swallowed thickly while his blood tried to decide whether it wanted to flush his face or fill his cock. “You can’t hurt me in ways I don’t enjoy,” he agreed. “The same for you. I won’t hurt you in any way you don’t want me to.”

      “Is this physical harm only, or verbal, as well?”

      “Physical,” Ral answered and then added, “and spiritual. Call me whatever names you like just don’t possess me or whatever.”

      The light in Tomik’s palm expanded, dimming as it formed a circle. “I, Tomik Vrona, hereby agree to cause no intentional harm, physically or spiritually, to Ral Zarek that he does not enjoy or explicitly request, under the condition that he does likewise.”

      Ral took a step back as the magic circle came toward him, hovering near his chest. Words and symbols danced in the center as if being written by a ghostly hand. “Tomik?”

      “Do you agree to these terms?” the man inquired stonily.

      “You said _intentional_ harm.”

      “Would you prefer we be reprimanded for every accidental knocking of teeth?”

      “And what exactly does a reprimand entail?”

      “Firstly, the spell will render the offending party unconscious,” the man sighed. “Then the other may either choose to forgive the mishap or to pursue legal measures.”

      “So not death?”

      Tomik rolled his eyes. “I’m an advokist, not an executioner. Do you agree to the terms or not?”

      Fuck it. “Yes.” What could go wrong?

      “Good.” The man nodded as his magic rushed Ral’s sternum. “Now leave your equipment at the door.”

      Ral pulled at the front of his shirt, the heat in his skin reminiscent of a burn. He felt the contract take in his bones, worming into him, soul deep, but, for all of that, there was no outward mark. Why was that disappointing?

      “What if one of us were to mortally injure the other?” he questioned, shedding his gear and then jogging up the steps. “If one of us is dead, the consequences can’t be decided.”

      Tomik was in the kitchen, swirling a measure of liquor around a crystal decanter. Ral eyed the ruddy liquid and forgot his previous inquiry.

      “Do you intend to mortally wound me, Zarek?”

      He blinked, eyeing the bob of the advokist’s Adam’s Apple as he downed the second measure. “What? No,” he muttered. “It was– uh, purely a matter of self-interest. You seem pretty out to get me.”

      Tomik snorted and set the decanter aside, grabbing the bottle by the neck and using it to point to the back of the apartment. “Out to get you into my bed.”

      “Seems like a lot of work for a one night stand.” There was something in the man’s eyes then that Ral recognized all too well. It was dark and predatory, deceptively calm. “What the hell did I do?” he breathed.

      In way of answer, the man strode passed him, bottle in hand, to the bedroom.

      Ral followed, frustrated and uncharacteristically nervous. His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood where Tomik’s tread was silent and yet, to Ral they pounded like war drums, the sound raising a brontide in his bones that seduced the pandemonium in his core.

      The bedroom was standard. Chair, window, bed, nightstand, closet. Ral didn’t care. His eyes were on Tomik, who took another drink from the bottle before setting it aside and pulling off his tunic, revealing the fine purple vest beneath.

      His eyes immediately went to the man’s perfectly round ass, curves only added to by the well-tailored fit of his trousers.

      He began unwinding his own belts and sashes, shedding his adornments cautiously before kicking out of his boots, thoughts drowned out by the wailing of alarms in his brain that commanded all blood to his dick.

      “I had a gargoyle before Beatrice,” Tomik said softly, hands working the buttons of his vest. Ral slowed in his own undressing, entranced by the deft movements of the man’s hands. “Her name was Nyla. I’d had her since I was eight.”

      He didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, but it didn’t matter. His vocabulary would not have made it past the thickness in his throat as Tomik shrugged out of the fabric. Ral watched the garment disappear from his line of sight, the falling away of falsehood, and stood, red sash in hand and lips parted in pre-speech.

      Tomik’s tone was empty as he spoke, but Ral felt the anguish in the atmosphere like the humidity before a cloudburst. “You killed her.”

      He’d done a fuck-ton more than that, if the scars on Tomik’s chest were anything to go by. They bloomed from his shoulder, branching downward toward his hip, starkly pale against bronze skin like frost over window-glass. He’d seen the marks before, but never on a living thing.

      “The elemental,” he murmured stupidly.

      “I was running errands for Teysa that day.” the man confirmed, touching the place on his shoulder were the scarring began. “The lightning struck the broach I was wearing.”

      “I didn’t see you.”

      “Because you weren’t looking.” For the briefest instant there was rage in the man’s eyes and then it was gone again, power hidden behind dark clouds. “You didn’t _care_ to look.”

      Ral bit back an apology and was surprised he’d even felt the desire to make one. What did it matter if this person had suffered? He’d hurt people before. So, why did the sight of Tomik like this birth such a heavy guilt?

_Because you never stick around long enough to look your victims in the face._

      Well, he was looking now. Tomik was making him and maybe that was rightful.

      “I only lived because the lightning grounded into Nyla. We fell.” There was a venomous curl to the man’s mouth now, a hard edge to his tone that Ral wanted to be cut on. “She _shattered_ on impact and I broke my back in two places.”

      He was still as Tomik approached him and stiller as the advokist guided him back until his spine was against the door-frame.

      Ral raised his hands, to do what, he didn’t know, touch him maybe, feel him, to run fingers over the power his flesh was veined with. He’d put a storm into this man and Tomik, not bred for mayhem, had foolishly bottled it. There was little else it could do but destroy him from the inside.

      He could see it clearly now as it trashed the man’s perfect order, bending his cogs and tearing free all the intricate little pieces that made this creature move. But Ral wanted more than that. He wanted to feel the devastation beneath his palms, to have it, like madness, roiling around him, through him, over him, _in him_. It didn’t make sense, but then, it didn’t need to. That was the beauty of chaos.

      “I don’t think I’m translating something correctly here,” he huffed, hands just touching the man’s chest before being shackled in firm fingers and forced away again. “What is it that you want, exactly?”

      “Only what you took from me.” Tomik’s words were in his marrow, scorching deep and guttural. “My control,” the man hissed. “My peace of mind. My confidence, my courage, my dignity.” Desperation wormed its way into the law-mage’s features, illuminated by the stray sparks coming off of Ral’s shoulders. “I’m _afraid_ to lay in my own gods-be-damned bed because of you.”

      “I don’t know how to give you those things,” he confessed, at a loss and disconcertingly sorry for it.

      Ral inhaled sharply as Tomik pressed his palm over his sternum, but didn’t struggle. “There was nothing I could do,” the man whispered along his jaw. “No spell. No ability. Just the ground approaching and a storm raging around me.” Ral shuddered as Tomik turned his face, lips brushing against the corner of his own. “Completely. Helpless.”

      It was a bizarre thing, to instinctively know what a stranger was asking of you, harder still to comprehend the need behind it, but Ral did. He knew what the hot press of Tomik’s palm meant, what the man was waiting for, what he was desperately seeking. And the fact that the advokist, after everything Ral had done, had even deigned to ask first, told him all he’d ever need to know.

      “Do it,” he breathed. “Go ahead.”

      Tomik mouthed the spell against his lips and then pressed a chaste kiss there as a soft glow emanated from between his fingers. When it faded, so did Ral’s storm magic.

      Suddenly whatever force had kept him upright thus far abandoned him and he might have collapsed beneath the fatigue weighing his shoulders had Tomik not pressed against him, pinning him in place.

      Ral tucked his face into his neck, breathing him in, unable to resist. He smelled liked like war, like wet earth and bedlam.

      “You really ought to take better care of yourself,” the man murmured, erection pressing hard into his thigh.

      His mouth watered as he trembled against him, brought to panting as the brunet’s hands began tugging at his clothes. “Thought you wanted me helpless?”

      “Helpless,” Tomik agreed huskily, rucking his tunic up to get to the hem of his pants, “not invalided.”

      He grunted as the man palmed him roughly through the fabric. He liked this. All of it. The the rare, single-minded attention and the hungry, angry energy now singing around them, vibrating from Tomik’s being and into his own. What he liked more than that though, was the dropping of pretense between them as the man corralled him toward the bed.

      The mattress dipped beneath his weight as Tomik pushed him down onto it, their mouths battling roughly, Tomik’s hands still pulling impatiently at the fabric of Ral’s clothing, tearing it where it would not otherwise give. He’d never had a person so eager for his flesh before and the stroking of his ego would only be second to the stroking of his cock.

      Again, he reached out to touch his partner but the man batted his hands away, pinning them on either side of his head.

      He bit the advokist’s lip in retaliation, remembering their contract too late.

      Tomik broke away, blood trickling from the small injury. The man smirked and ground their hips together. Ral moaned, shameless, as their clothed cocks brushed. He arched his back for more, but the bastard leaned away.

      “Keep your hands to yourself, Zarek,” Tomik warned, “or so will I.”

      “What?” he spluttered. “Why?”

      “Because I asked it of you,” the man purred, thumbing the blood from his chin and licking the digit clean with a lascivious curl of his tongue. “That’s reason enough.”

      “Like hell it i–”

      Tomik brushed the wet finger-pad over one of Ral’s peaked nipples and his protests were washed away on a wave of pleasure. He lifted his hips again, pleadingly and the man obliged with a hard roll of his own.

      One hand still teasing his chest, Tomik moved the other to his hair, brushing it back, almost tenderly, before pulling it so hard that he had no choice but to bare his throat. Silenced or not, Ral could have sworn a bolt of lightening shot up his spine as Tomik scraped his teeth along the straining muscles, tongue swirling over the mark Ral knew he’d left.

       He should have cared. He didn’t. The haze was so thick that he couldn’t see his way passed it, didn’t want to. It was like being thrown into the Blind Eternities, being torn apart and remade all at once with no promise of life after. It sundered and it bound and he never wanted to leave. He would give Tomik Vrona anything he asked for, if he could only stay here, where nothing else mattered. Not Bolas, not Niv, not Jace, just this, this broken, black sort of freedom that couldn’t exist outside of this room, beyond this person who, in an effort to bring him low, had lifted him so high that the only weight on him was that of Tomik’s body.

      “Please,” he gasped. What the hell was he even asking for? He rutted, desperate and his partner let out a feral growl, digging nails into his thigh in chastisement. “Fuck me.” Oh, yeah, _that_. That was a thing he needed. Now. “Please.”

      “Not this time,” Tomik denied on a panted breath, pushing Ral’s tunic further up so that he could litter his chest and stomach with the same vicious little bites his neck had just received.

 _This time._ The sound he made was like a laugh, but thicker, a rasped relief that words could not do justice.

      Tomik released his hair and Ral immediately lifted his head, vision swimming until it locked onto his partner’s dark gaze. Even the slide of the man’s fingers around the hem of his pants sent shivers through him. He had just enough strength to push himself up onto jellied elbows as his cock was freed.

      “Knees apart,” the advokist purred, lips centimeters from his cock-head.

      Ral obliged. Tomik reached a hand beneath the bed and came back up with his fingers glimmering wet. “What– _oh_ ,” he keened as the man slid a finger over his pucker, rubbing teasing circles. “Tomik, fuck.”

      Any thing else he’d been thinking vanished from his tongue as his dick was welcomed into the warm, wet cavity of the advokist’s mouth.

      He moaned without restraint and fisted his hands in the sheets to keep from pushing them into Tomik’s hair. His heart thundered, legs shaking, chest heaving. He was endlessly grateful that his lover was not dissuaded by the urgent rocking of his hips, simply hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue.

      “Gods,” he gusted, collapsing back into the mattress as a slick finger pushed inside him. “You perfect fucking bastard.”

      If he’d been clear headed, he might have recognized the smug laugh that rippled around his dick at that. As he wasn’t, he dismissed it as simple sensation and groaned his approval.

      Another finger joined its counterpart and they moved within him, tortuously slow, seeking and then finding. Lights bursts across his vision and he gasped. A thumb caressed the tender flesh beneath his balls. His insides burned, searing coils of pressure gathered in his loins as Tomik strummed him like ass-play was his profession.

      Fuck. Oh fuck.

      He tried to warn the man, but nothing in his head was on a functioning level. All he could manage was a soft, despairing curse.

      Tomik’s intruding fingers only worked him harder. In combination with the suction of cheeks and slide of lips, Ral came, hard, the intensity of the orgasm wrecking him so thoroughly that he lost all cognitive function, black eating his vision up until he was sure he’d been blinded by the pleasure.

      When he recovered, seconds, minutes, maybe hours later, he was alone.

      The mattress protested as he sat up. He scratched at his beard, eyes scanning the room. Empty. Sighing, he pulled up his pants and trudged to the door, lingering in its open mouth and peering into the apartment.

      His host was in the kitchen, leaning awkwardly against the counter with his back to the bedroom, elbows on the polished surface and head in his hands. Now and then he would shift his feet, as if trying to relieve an unseen pressure.

      Understanding dropped like stones in Ral’s belly.

      “Your back hurts,” he said, noticing the butt of the upturned liquor bottle in the sink basin. “Booze didn’t take the edge off?” Tomik didn’t turn, though Ral watched tension build in his still bare shoulders. “Is that why you didn’t fuck me?”

      “You can go,” the man muttered.

      “Yeah,” Ral folded his arms and propped a hip against the door-frame. “But can I stay?”

      Tomik’s response was soft but bitter. “Do you want to?”

      “Well, it’s got to be at least three in the morning and my magic is still Silenced,” he replied diplomatically. “Even I’m not so reckless as to walk the streets of Ravnica without protection.”

      The man only grunted, shifting again.

      “You have work in the morning?”

      “Yes,” Tomik replied through gritted teeth, leaving Ral to wonder what percentage was pain and what was annoyance.

      “Then come back to bed.”

      “No.”

      “You’re just going to stand there all night?”

      “If I want to.”

      “Okay, but you don’t.”

      “Ral–”

      “You didn’t get what you were hoping for, did you?” he inquired. “Had me at your mercy and it didn’t do a damn thing for you, did it? What? You couldn't control that elemental so you figured having control over me was the next best thing? That it?”

      The one syllable answer came in two. “Fuck you.”

      It was hard not to move, not to gust through the apartment and take the man by the scruff, but Ral well knew what good throwing stones at the wind did. “Listen,” he cajoled. “What you’re going through, it’s normal.”

      “Don’t patronize me.”

      “As if,” he scoffed. “I’m just telling it like it is. You don’t have the power to stop a storm, Tomik. You can’t even soothe the breeze.”

      “Then what am I suppose to do?”

      Ral took a slow breath, unnerved by how the desolation in the man’s voice seemed to blow a great void in his chest. “Wait it out.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Come to bed.”

      “I _can’t._ ”

      “Because you’re afraid of a mattress?”

      “Because it _hurts_.”

      His face chilled with a sickly, unwelcomed grief and it was a struggle to keep his tone indifferent. “And standing there doesn’t?”

      “Just go.”

      “Come. To. Bed.”

      As hard as it was to turn his back on the man, he did it, kicking out of his pants and tunic before sliding in between ridiculously luxurious sheets. He listened to Tomik moving to follow, slowly, no doubt painfully. Ral was cautious to keep his eyes fixed away from him as he entered the room and didn’t say a word while he struggled out of his trousers.

      It took an excruciatingly long time for Tomik to lower himself onto the bed and even longer to settle in. Ral didn’t know whether the position he’d fallen into– on his side, with his back to him– was actually comfortable or if the man had just given up. The heavy breathing and sweat-damp temples told Ral it was likely the latter.

      “Here,” he sighed, offering the advokist the pillow he’d been using. “Try this between your knees.”

      Tomik lifted an arm to accept the thing but let it drop again, barely stifling the injured sound in his throat. “Forget it. Go to sleep now.”

      Rolling his eyes, Ral sat up, stuffing the pillow between the advokist’s legs with more caution than his nature usually allowed. “Where?” he questioned, scooting closer and laying a hand on the man’s spine. “Tomik?”

      “Lay still,” the man growled.

      Giving in, he laid down again, this time fitting himself against Tomik’s back, hoping his heat might give offer some relief. “It wasn’t a _terrible_ plan, you know,” he whispered, snaking an arm over the man’s waist, hand staking a claim on his rib-cage where he could already feel the air coming in more easily. “I’ve certainly had worse and none of them ended in an orgasm so, you’ve beaten me there.”

      “Please shut up.”

      Ral closed his eyes, smile soft against the dark of Tomik’s hair.

      He’d put a storm in this man and he intended to call it out again, even if he had to do it one raindrop at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too many ideas for this now. >.< Hang on tight.


	7. A Mirrored Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This one is just some short fluffy filler to let you know I'm still alive. I know abandonment issues run rampant here on the archive. Anyway~ Enjoy. I'll be back with a more plot-centric chapter soon.

 

      Ral woke to the pattering of rain on the rooftops, drumming up unpleasant memories in his sleep addled brain. His mother, angry. His father, shouting. A downpour he couldn’t hold inside anymore.

 _Rain mage._ _Stupid, useless rain-mage._

      He shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders, yawning into a pillow more plush than _anything_ he’d ever owned.

      "Tomik?” he murmured, reaching a hand out only to find the bed empty.

      He opened one eye to scowl at the vacant bed-sheets and then sat up in a flail of long limbs. What fucking time was it? Shit. He was definitely late for something.

      Rising, he shook out stiff muscles and scanned the room for his clothes. He found them folded neatly over the arm of a chair in the corner. He wondered if that was courtesy or the inability to accept disorder. He thought of his own cluttered living quarters and snorted. Tomik really had no business getting involved with him.

_And yet._

      It had been so nice to sleep beside someone else, even if that person whimpered in his sleep and hogged all the blankets. Ral had been warm and content just knowing he wasn’t alone. The anxiety that had been plaguing him for weeks had faded in Tomik’s presence, every terrible thing seeming a little less so.

      But that was over now. Tomik wasn’t here and Ral couldn’t stay.

      He lingered, pulling one of his red sashes through his fingers. It was worn, battered as he was, but still vibrant in its own right. Mostly though, it smelled of smoke and chemicals, like him. Far more so than the bed-sheets. His stomach seized at the realization of what he wanted to do and why. It wasn’t logical, but he turned to the bed and tied the fabric to the bed-post, stepping back to admire his absurdity. The red was out of place among the muted neutrality of the rest of the room, a tangible thing that screamed ‘ _Ral was here_ ,’ and, more than that, a bright and thunderous ‘ _Ral will be back_ ’.

      The feeling of eyes on him sprung up suddenly and he stilled, calling as much energy into his palms as he could without the accumulator. The sensation fled and he did likewise, using his longest strides to reach the front door, where he donned his equipment, eyes flitting around to all the dark corners. He would not put it past Tomik to live in a haunted house.

      His concerns were pushed aside, however, when his hurried fingers stumbled across a white cloth tied to one of the many straps of his gear. He leaned against the door and unraveled it, finding a small piece of parchment tucked within.

_I’ll be sending for you again. Don’t kill the messenger next time._

_Also, there is lunch in the icebox. Take it with you._

      Ral snorted, tucked the paper into one of his many pockets and jogged back up the stairs to do as he’d been instructed, a warmth beneath his sternum that rivaled Skreeg’s last lab-fire in intensity. It had been decades since anyone had cared whether or not he was fed.

      Grinning like a fool, he retrieved the meal and hurried off toward the Izzet guildgate, Tomik’s white fabric fluttering in his fingers.

~

      Tomik hadn’t ever hated the rain. Hadn’t given it much thought at all, really. It was just one of those necessary things in life that one could only adapt to. Months ago, adapting meant wearing a heavier cloak or activating a drying charm.

      Now it meant slow steps on sidewalks made treacherous and a spine that ached so badly his teeth hurt. It meant odd looks from strangers and disapproving glowers from his co-workers. It meant coming home late because his tasks had taken so long and dumping his wet cloak and robes in the entryway because the idea of climbing the stairs bearing the extra weight was too tiresome to entertain.

      He had to pause halfway up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister, to try and coax a full breath into his lungs. The pain was dizzying and he clutched the railing tightly, doubting he’d get up from a topple at this point. Each step sent shards of glass careening throughout him, but as much as he’d have liked to sit down, he couldn’t sleep in the stairwell.

      By the time he made it to the top, he lumbered straight to the bedroom. Even if he’d had the will to eat, there was no way he’d be able to make himself something and the paperwork waiting on his desk would only blur before his eyes if he tried to sort it out now. Not that sleep was going to come any easier.

      He stood in the bedroom doorway for a moment, teeth gritted and breathing heavily through his nose, the memory of soft kisses the night before, of gentle words spoken without the intention of being heard and of the wonderful, soothing heat of the man’s body pressed against his back, taunting him– tempting him.

      Would Ral come if he sent for him now? Would the man be satisfied to lay beside him while he suffered? Could he slow the rain or at the very least push it’s influence from his bones?

      Pathetic. He was pathetic.

      What had he become? What had this monster in his soul made him into? He hadn’t wanted to be held so badly since his parents had died. He hadn’t desired touch or comfort or even the simple presence of another living thing in so long and yet here he was wanting it so completely that he felt close to tears _._

      Taking a cautious step into the room, as though the floor may part beneath him, he made for his chair, pausing halfway as his eyes were drawn back to the bed. It was warm and soft and if he placed the pillows just right then perhaps he could find some relief. Gods, any relief at all would be more than he’d hoped for.

      A spot of color in the shadows called to him and he smiled despite the hurt weighing the corners of his mouth. Red. Like a burst of flame, like blood on white robes or the sky before a storm. Ral’s red.

      He winced, freeing himself from the remainder of his clothing as he gingerly crossed the room, shaking hands working to unknot the fabric so that he could sink into the mattress with it. Pain lanced up his spine as he tried to settle into a position that hurt less, all the while hyper-fixating on the cloth.

      It was ragged, roughened and scorched in places and smelled like explosions, but it felt like a promise.

      Tomik fell asleep running it through his fingers.


	8. Thank Rakdos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive! Canon sort of donkey-kicked me in the morale but here I am, persevering. It's short, but not as short as my attention span.

     Dwarves were difficult. Much less pliant than goblins. Which was why there were a handful of them still twitching in pissy trousers on Kaladesh as Ral returned to Ravnica, a set of extremely delicate aether-disruptors stowed in the breast pocket of his vest. If they’d survived the planeswalk he intended to study, modify and then incorporate them into a very useful new device he’d been working on.

     After a brief investigation into where Jace had fucked off too– because the Guildpact still held so the pretty bastard was still kicking– Ral had spent the rest of his day stalking around through Ghirapur for various commodities, including the disruptors. It had been a very productive day. It had also been an exhausting one.

     Already bogged down with the usual fatigue brought on by his borderline suicidal tendency to skip sleep and proper meals for the sake of time spent elbows-deep in something explodey, The Blind Eternities had made him their bitch.

     This fact, compacted with Ravnica’s ants-in-a-jar design, made for a difficult, if not downright bad time. It was also why Ral appeared within a group of Rakdos rabble-rousers instead of his offices. His first thought was to protect the disruptors, hunching his shoulders to cover his chest, presenting his face to the studded knuckles of someone’s glove before he was able to duck and roll out from the tangle of sharp objects. He did not stop to the consider what, where or why of the group. It was often better not to know.

     Tucked safely– or as safely as one could be in the dark of Cult territory – he waited out the ruckus, hot blood running down his cheek and hand still placed protectively over his vest pocket. His knees felt jellied and he leaned into the building at his back, hoping to fortify them.

     It didn’t work.

     He groaned and slid down the wall, onto the grimy pavement. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spent the night in an alley, but it would likely be his last. There hadn’t been any reason to rob and murder Ral, the dirty, half-starved rain-cloud, but Ral Zarek, one of the Izzet’s most prestigious mages? It’d be fucking irresistable.

     A line of fire lit up his side as he tried to pull a knee beneath him and he reached for the offending area, hand coming away slick with blood.

     “Shit.” A crackle of light around his fingertips revealed the injury and, probably, his location to any lurking cut-throats.

     The wound was deep but clean, the sign of a very sharp knife. Lovely. Thank you, Rakdos. Now, to wait and see if the blade had been poisoned. Damn. He really didn’t have time to be dying right now.

     He could probably cauterize the wound if he gathered enough heat in his palm, but then the light would draw attention, not to mention the scar would be that much worse. The thought of scars sent his mind straight back to Tomik and a pit opened his gut that rivaled the stab wound and he cursed long and low.

 _You’ve done worse,_ he reminded himself, as he did every time he began to sweat over pale lines on tanned flesh. He’d hurt more people than that one, made marks far worse and with more malice, but somehow having left Tomik ruined felt like the greatest depravity of an already blasphemous existence.

     He felt cold. His limbs began to tremble and his face numbed. Shit. Definitely poison. He closed his eyes, but the world still spun, shuddering sideways as bile burned at the   back of his throat. Something touched him, fingers in his hair? He tried to see past the sudden smear in his vision, but could make nothing out. The crunch of grit beneath soft leather shoes sounded and he turned his face in its direction only to have the sudden movement instigate his vomiting.

     What was Tomik doing right now, he wondered foggily as he gagged. Reading a book? Shouting obscenities into the open air? If so, were they about him? Probably not. It’d been days. Tomik has probably dismissed the very thought of him by now.

     Ral spat and smirked, trying to shrink away from his sick, managing hardly an inch. Maybe the Advokist was sleeping in his chair because Ral wasn’t there to make the bed an option. His eye-lids drooped even as his pulse raced. Maybe Tomik hadn’t forgotten him though. Maybe he was sitting with Beatrice in the yard, giving her the attention that befitted such a miraculous creature. Maybe Tomik was thinking about how Ral might be locked in a basement someplace, building something or exploding someone or dying in his own vomit in a Rakdos slum.

     He laughed and it sounded far away.

     Wow. He had it fucking bad, didn’t he?

     “Ral?” A woman’s voice, familiar and irksome but not at all unwelcome. “Thought that was you back there. You look like shite, mate.”

     His lips curled in a snarl and he glanced up to find a blurry Hekara standing over him. “Someone stabbed me,” he grunted.

     “’Course they did, that’s what we do round here.”

     “Are you going to help me or are you waiting for me to die so you can loot me?”

     “Wouldn’t need ta wait,” she snorted, offering him a hand. “But no, I was gonna save your life. Unless your done with it?”

     “This gonna involve a bed of nails?”

     He regretted his sharp tongue as she brandished an even sharper smile. “It does now.”


	9. Storm Chasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know. It's short. But I wanted to do the next chapter in Ral's pov and it SHOULD be long, so...

      Tomik had not heard from Ral in six days. He'd sent a message to the man's offices and another to the only lab he was aware of. Ral had not responded. And why should he? After failing so thoroughly that night, Tomik should have known better than to think someone as arrogant and self-serving as Ral Zarek would want such a pitiful bed-partner again, even if Tomik had done his absolute best to pleasure him.  
       _Is that why you didn't fuck me?_  
       The statement seemed so telling now. Ral had been disappointed in him. Tomik couldn't perform correctly. He couldn't lay flat, he couldn't gyrate his hips, he couldn't even stay on his knees for too long. He was defective. Just another of Ral's failed experiments.  
       That was fine. Ral was the same to him, after all. A plan that didn't quite work out. A defeated attempt at a life he'd never really thought about until it's been taken away. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't feel like this, like hot coals in his lungs, like snakes in his gut. It shouldn't feel like the end of something.  
       He should go out. He had friends who would come if he called. They would talk shop and watch him from the corners of their eyes though. They'd follow too closely, look at each other despairingly when they thought he couldn't see, as if silently wondering among themselves which step would take him down, or which crack in the sidewalk would kill him.   
       "You know," his mother clucked, suddenly beside him, her pale form wisping over the die of his desk as though she had the ability to perch, "this is all very unnecessary."   
       "I'm working."  
       "You're moping."  
       He cut his eyes in her direction and then gave up the pretense altogether. "Fine. But I'm also working," he sighed, taking the glasses from his nose and thumbing between his brows where a headache was blooming.   
       "I've talked to the others. We should have enough debtors to completely heal you."   
       "No."   
       "Tomik, they _chose_ us. They chose to give us their lives."  
       "It's not a choice when you're starving. It's not a choice when your children are sick. It's not—"  
       "My child _is_ sick!"   
       How long had it been since he'd heard her voice so wet with tears? Had he ever? He couldn't look at her. "I'm sorry. I'm not taking life from someone else just so my back doesn't hurt. I'm alive. I can bear it."  
       "You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You've shut yourself in this dusty little apartment. It's like a tomb! I would know."  
       "Where's father? You're being dramatic."  
       Her words were barely more than a whisper. "You don't smile anymore."  
       "I thought smiling was unbecoming of an Orzh—"  
       "It is." She snapped. "But it isn't unbecoming of my son."  
       He didn't know what to say to that, maybe there wasn't anything. He stood, tidying the papers he'd been going over and then tucked his chair neatly beneath the desk.   
       "What are you doing?" The touch of her ghostly hand on his shoulder left a damp chill and it was an effort not to shrug her off.   
       "Going out."  
       "But It's nearly midnight."  
       "As good a time as any,” he shrugged.  
       She glowed a little brighter. "You're going to look for him, aren't you?"  
       The realization that, yes, he was, hit him almost in the same instant as her words and he smiled petulantly at himself. How pathetic. It didn’t change his mind. "Yes."   
       She made that clucking sound again, hovering menacingly above him, arms akimbo. "It's not safe to wonder around after dark."  
       "It's Ravnica. It's not safe to wonder around, regardless." He turned and pulled on a light jacket and then crossed the room to find his boots.  
       His mother trailed after him, smoke from a flame. "Don't go, Tomik. It’s not safe."  
       "Weren’t you just complaining that I'd become a shut-in?"  
       "Yes but this is just you being spiteful. That's not like you."  
       "On the contrary,” he snorted, “I think it's more like me than you want to admit."  
       "You're not well. Someone could easily over-power you."  
       "Goodnight, mother."  
       "Wait!” She appeared in front of him as he headed for the stairs. “I— I know where he is."   
       "What?"  
       “I sent your father on a bit of reconnaissance mission."  
       "You did _what_."  
       "We were worried.” She met his eyes. They’d been the same color as his own, once, though he hardly remembered. “He's dangerous. Tomik, the _things_ he's done."  
       He looked away and put his hand on the railing, indicating that he was still intent on leaving. "I didn't chase after him because I thought he was a saint."  
       "But, you don't understand."  
       Nor did he want to. "Whatever his sins," he huffed, "I'm sure he's paid for them."  
       "And if he hasn't?"  
       "Then he will." People always did. "Call it off, this mission of yours. Ral doesn't owe you his secrets. Those are for me. So please, stay out of it."   
       "Tomik—"  
       "Where is he?”  
  
  


 


	10. Because, Science.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this happened. That thing I mentioned? That really cute thing that keeps slipping through my fingers? Yeah, it did that again. These two really just hate letting me have my way. They do what they want and I just have to go with it. Whatever. Here you go. Just take it. *stomps away to have a tantrum*
> 
> *stomps back*  
> ALSO I CAN'T FIGURE OUT WHY THERE IS A RANDOM SPACE BETWEEN THOSE PARAGRAPHS SO  
> *stomps away again*

     

      It was like a hangover, minus the revelrous precursor. And that was just downright unfair. Seriously, fuck Rakdos and his weirdos. Except Hekara... Or maybe _especially_ Hekara. Ral could never decide which.  
      Which. Witch. Ha. Puns.  
      Gods, was he still delirious?  
      He glanced down his naked chest at the nasty wound in his side. It'd stopped bleeding, but the flesh was swollen and the stitches itched. He had a feeling he'd be cutting them out sooner rather than later, scar be damned. All his bed-mates seemed to enjoy them anyway. What was one more for them to—

      Wow. Nope. He didn't like that. The thought of the others.  
      He frowned down at the wires he was welding. The last time he'd been so disgusted by the thought of sleeping with other people, he'd been balls deep in love with Elias.  
His stomach rolled and he blamed the left over poison in his blood, despite knowing Hekara had given him an antidote. Because fuck Elias.

      "This isn't like that," he proclaimed to the tiny workshop.  
       And it _wasn't_. This was something else. Something worse and better at the same time.  
      Tomik didn't expect his trust, or seek it, even. The man had been dangerous from the start and, in that way, he was safe. He was safe because Ral had made the choice. He was safe, because if Tomik chose to hurt him, the wound would be justified.  
      This logic, however, did not explain why he was currently standing over a tangle of wires and tiny metal plates, at who-knows-when-o'clock, with a painful gut wound and a headache, inventing something solely for someone else's sake. It was an idiosyncrasy Ral chose to leave unanalyzed, because, you know, that's what healthy, functioning adults did when they had unresolved issues.  
      He released a bolt of lightning into the rubber target he'd set in the corner and felt better as another hole appeared in the tattered blue robe it wore. Chances were, Jace wouldn't need it back.  
      "Well, that was dramatic."  
      Ral swung around to face the staircase, in the middle of which, was Tomik. For a long moment they just stared at one another, taking stock, planning next moves, accomplishing exactly nothing of value.  
      And then Ral put out the sparks dancing in his palm and snapped, "how the hell did you get in here?"  
      "The front door," the Advokist stated. "Come up here."  
      He sucked his teeth and set aside the soldering gun. "Don't tell me what to do."  
      "Fine." Tomik took a careful step downward. "I'll just—"  
      "No." Ral's gut went icy despite the burn of his injury and he moved to the base of the stairwell, holding out a staying palm. "Stay there," he commanded, peering up into a face colored in shadow and limned in blue-hued moonlight. "I'll come to you."  
      The man eyed him and then glanced over his shoulder to give his  
workbench the same scrutiny. "I assume by your reaction that you're up to no good?"  
      "Fair assumption," he conceded, mounting the first uneven step, shooing Tomik toward the top, "but no. The stairs are steep, is all."  
      " _The stairs are steep_?" the brunet scoffed. "Really?"  
      Ral kept his comments to himself, seeing plainly that the man was having trouble traversing what little of the ascent there was. Anyone would be in peril, really. The stairs had been thrown together in a hurry after an explosion had destroyed the original set and comfort had not been foremost in his mind. But with Tomik's injuries, a fall wasn't worth the risk.  
      _Ugh_. He snarled at the man's plump ass. Look at him, giving a fuck. Not an experiment that had ever churned out any positive results before, but hey, what was science if not persistence in the face of spectacular failure?  
      "You're hurt." It was not a question.  
      "It's nothing," Ral muttered, waving the man forward into what little space was left in the cluttered living area. Strange, he never seemed to notice the mess before Tomik had come along with his swanky clothes and holier-than-thou attitude. Now everything just looked dingy in comparison, even his reflection, which he'd always been a big fan of.  
      "Let me see."  
      "What?"  
      "The injury," Tomik huffed. "Let me see it."  
      "I think there are more important things to be addressed here than a little stab wound."  
      "Ral."  
      "Don't _Ra_ _l_ me. You can't just barge in here. How did you even know where I was? And—"  
      "Do you want me to leave?"  
      No. "Depends," he breathed. "Why did you come?"  
      "I sent for you. Twice." The man turned his face away and Ral felt... stolen from. "But you didn't respond. I thought— I assumed it was because you weren't— that I'd displeased you. But then I heard you were wounded."  
      Displeased? How? And how the fuck had he known he'd been hurt? It'd only happened last night and no one could have known except Hekara, and she had no reason to say anything. He should have asked, wanted to, but when he opened his mouth, something far less relevant came out. "You were worried?"  
      Tomik's eyes moved around the room, lingering on the cluttered sofa for a telling instant before returning to Ral. "I was going out looking for you anyway. I wanted answers."  
      _His back hurts. He wants to sit down._ Hell, _he_ wanted to sit down. His head was swimming and his legs were jellied.  
      "Answers to what?" he huffed, moving over to the worn couch, tossing junk off of it and onto the floor. "How'd you know about the stabbing?"  
      Shit. And what else did he know? If someone had seen him be stabbed, perhaps someone had also seen him materialize from thin air...  
      The Advokist was silent. Ral didn't press.  
      When the couch was clear, he sat, feet apart and arms stretched out over the edge-roll, wincing when the action pulled at his stitches. "You can sit if you want," he said, carelessly waving his fingers to the empty cushions beside him.  
      "Did you get my messages?"  
      "No. I was off pl— I've been unavailable for the last few days. Errands. Guild business. I just got back last night." His tone was rough, but he made no attempt to soften it. This was serious. "I answered your question. Now answer mine."  
      Tomik did. "My parents are ghosts."  
      The cogs in Ral's head ground, stuttered, and restarted. "What."  
      "They died when I was a kid, but decided to stick around,” the man explained. “They're ghosts."  
      Wow. Thank the gods _hi_ _s_ parents hadn't pulled that shit. "That's creepy as fuck, you know?"  
      "It was confusing, to say the least..." Tomik frowned, raking long fingers through his hair in a way that made Ral's own hands twitch in envy. "Anyway. They weren't pleased by my interest in you, so my father has been watching your movements."  
      "Excuse me?"  
      "I'm sorry. I didn't know until about an hour ago."  
      Under normal circumstances, his temper would have led him to stand up in a rush and flaunt his sparks, but his side was throbbing and the look on Tomik's features hinted at an outrage hot enough for the both of them. "Why would they need to follow me?"  
      "They thought you were dangerous."  
      "I am dangerous."  
      "Yes," the man breathed, gaze at last returning to him. It was far more empty than Ral had expected, like the dusted over windows in a haunted house. "I'm well aware."  
      He didn't like that look, didn't like how quickly Tomik's moods shifted. A person couldn't predict what way a storm was blowing if the wind went in all directions. "Come here." The command was coaxing, gentle. "Sit down."  
      Another shift, this time to stubborn pride. "Why?"  
      "What the hell do you mean why?"  
      And again, to uncertainty. "Are we— are you still interested in this?"  
      Interested? He was most certainly that. Sane, though? Not a chance. "Sorry, you'll need to be more specific."  
      Tomik pursed his lips. "In me."  
      "That an answer or an invitation?"  
      "Don't play games. If you're interested, I'd like to try again. If you're not, I'll go."  
      "Try again?"  
      "Are you being obtuse on purpose?" Tomik snapped, the color in his cheeks more alluring than it had the right to be.  
      Ral shrugged. "It's just who I am as a person, honestly."  
      "This was pointless," the Advokist muttered, heading for the door. "Goodnight."  
      "Get your prissy ass back here," he hissed. "I never said I was done with it."  
      For a long moment, the brunet was quiet and Ral was sure he would leave. He kept himself still, fighting the urge to get up and stop him should he do so. Ral Zarek did not beg. Not anymore.  
      "Not here, it's filthy." Tomik whispered. "Come home with me, I'll dress that wound and make something to eat."  
      "I'd rather fuck you on this couch."  
      More silence. And then a thready, "I don't know if I can."  
      "Let's experiment," Ral purred, intrigue and arousal coming together in an intoxicating mix that promised just as much fun as any explosion.  
      Tomik looked unsure, but took a promising step in his direction. "You've just been stabbed."  
      "It's not the first time, probably not the last time either." He did stand then, shoving more failed experiments out of the way. "Look, there's as many ways to fuck as there are to die. And I've explored quite a few of both." He held out his hand.  
      The man snorted dubiously, but laid ink-smudged fingers in his palm. "Are you saying that you’re a slut?"  
      "No," Ral snickered. "I'm a scientist."

 


	11. The Exploration if Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, it’s basically porn with feelings.

  
     Tomik didn't know what he was doing and he'd given up trying to figure it out. It was too hard to keep up with the chaos that was Ral Zarek. What was more alarming than that, he didn't want to. Somehow, the man made the thought of being swept away alluring.  
     "You get as comfortable as you can there. Naked, preferably," the man said, gesturing to the sofa. "I'm going to clean up a little and grab a few things."  
     Tomik looked at the couch doubtfully, but unbuttoned his tunic anyway, pulse pounding in his ears.  
     He'd never been fucked before. Didn't know if he wanted to be. Didn't know if he could be. His hands shook and he balled the traitorous appendages into fists at his side. Even if it hurt, he needed to do this. Because if he didn't, it would only prove that he wasn't whole. He'd make a fool of himself again and whatever this was with Ral would end. And it couldn't end, not yet. Not until he got what he needed from it.  
Whatever that was.  
     "Tomik?"  
     He startled as the mage put a hand on his arm. "What?" he snapped, pulling at the rest of his buttons, cursing when one caught and pulled free.  
     It clattered onto the floor and skittered away into the filth, never to be seen again. They both watched it disappear with undue attention.  
     "Was that real silver?" Ral inquired.  
     He pulled at the leather belt slung around his waist, eyeing the things in the other man's arms. "No," he muttered, though, yes, it had been. "What's all that for?"  
     "Exploring variables," the mage hummed, stepping past him to unload his cargo near the foot of the sofa.  
     Tomik took a moment to admire the curve of the man's ass and the lean muscle moving beneath his skin before persuading his tunic off over his head. He looked around for some place to lay it, turning back, defeated, to find Ral holding out his hand. Their eyes met and Tomik dumbly dropped it into his palm.  
     Smiling, the mage neatly folded the tunic and set it across the back of a— something in the corner, and then turned back to him, expressive features all alight, a cat with a mouse.  
     Ral had a villainous smile, plush lips that curled just a little to well in the corners and a beguilingly deep dimple hiding beneath facial hair that always managed to be stylishly untidy. But his eyes. The man’s eyes were wide open. They possessed the unfair ability to be both cold and hot, a clear sky in the winter or the lightning in a summer storm. Tomik, likewise, hated and admired them. He wanted them on him, always, wanted that wanton stare to never waver or wander. He wanted Ral’s attention, but knew better than to think he could keep it.  
     Because Ral was so much and Tomik was so little. Stones grew in his gut and, with an effort, he pried his gaze away. Why had he come here? Ral was brilliant, handsome and charming. Even his cruelty and his arrogance was attractive. Tomik was just... brown. Dull. Covered in scars. A shitty lay. A boring, broken thing disguised beneath a lot of pomp.  
     He should leave before he embarrassed himself, before Ral discovered exactly what he was when he was naked, truly naked.  
     But… but he wanted–  
     "Forget what I said earlier," Ral hummed, moving in close and looping an arm around Tomik's waist. "We can start here, like this."  
     He tensed as Ral pulled them together, their chests touching, faces so close he could smell the mint the man had used to cleanse his mouth. Tomik's heart pounded and he felt elated and sick in tandem. He wanted this, this closeness, this wrongness, this utter foolishness. He wanted it so badly it was painful. And for the love of all the gods, why must everything hurt?  
     Ral pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Pay attention to me,” he complained softly. “My ego’s fragile.”  
     Tomik allowed himself to place his hands on Ral’s narrow hips, feathering thumbs over the skin just inside. This elicited a heated noise from Ral, who slid a hand down to his ass and squeezed, pushing himself forward to press his arousal against Tomik’s thigh.  
     And suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter if Ral was beautiful and Tomik wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he was damaged or that he’d shown up here looking desperate. It didn’t even fucking matter that Ral would likely forget about him before the end of the week. He still had now and he’d be damned if he let his own skewed self-worth ruin it for him. If he did that, Ral would have won.  
     “I don’t know how this is going to work,” he confessed, thankful that his blood was too busy traveling to his groin to spread across his cheeks. “It’s hard for me to thrust my hips or sit up from laying down.”  
     He expected ridicule or, at the very least, snark, but Ral only hummed against his lips and pulled him closer. “Don’t worry,” the mage murmured. “I’ll take care of you.”  
     Tomik tried to duck his head, to look away, but Ral kept firm custody of his mouth, moving his hands up to grip his arms in a firm, possessive way that sent a shudder down his twisted spine. Their still-clothed cocks ground together. Tomik groaned around Ral’s tongue, mind melting away into something similar in consistency to Rakdos’ mercy. He tried to move his hips, needing more friction, but hot pain lanced up his back and he whimpered into his lover’s mouth.  
     Ral pulled back, those cataclysmic eyes searching. Tomik didn’t want to be seen, though, and forced his body forward despite the discomfort, trying to distract the man with the same sensation that had just so easily mushed his own thoughts. It didn’t work.  
     “Show me where it’s worst,” the man entreated, almost sweetly.  
He lifted his arms, hooping Ral’s neck, the fingers of one hand delving into that thick, coarse hair. Why hadn’t he ever touched it before now? It was exactly how he’d imagined. Ral closed his eyes and Tomik knew he’d found a weakness. He tugged a little and the mage rutted against him in response. With his free hand, Tomik cupped Ral’s face, brushing a thumb across a wet, kiss-swollen bottom lip.  
     Ral took the tip of it between his teeth, biting just hard enough to be reprimanding. “Tell me.” It was a demand this time, low and rumbling and laced with an emotion Tomik couldn’t quite comprehend “Show me.”  
     “Just– this is unsexy. I’m–”  
     “What’s unsexy is hurting the guy you’re trying to fuck because he’s too stubborn to tell you how not to bend him.” The look Ral gave him had to be the same one he used when calling up lightning, because Tomik was struck. The man’s expression softened. “My life’s been full of bad things,” he whispered, kissing him again, gently, coaxingly. “But I like this. I like you. And I think this is a good thing, maybe not a smart thing, but a good one. And I don’t make the good things bad if I can help it. So, tell me or we stop now and we don’t start again.”  
     Tomik blinked up into Ral’s earnest features. And laughed. “You’re a lot more sensitive than I anticipated.”  
     Dark brows went up. “You thought I went around blowing shit up because I didn’t have any feelings?” Ral scoffed. “If having feelings isn’t a good enough reason to blow a building up then I don’t know what is.”  
     “You shouldn’t blow buildings up.”  
     The mage shrugged. “To be fair, I’m usually in them when it happens.”  
     Tomik rolled his eyes and took Ral’s hand, guiding it to his lower back. Just having the man’s hand there made his face feel static. It was like baring his throat to a wild animal. “The worst break was here,” he breathed. “The vertabrae broke on both sides. Conclave healers were able to mend the crack and fish out the broken bits of bone, but they couldn’t reattach what them. I lost half an inch off my height.”  
     “Conclave healers couldn’t fix it?”  
     “I’m– resistant to healing magic.”  
     “Because of the incest.”  
      He glowered but Ral was not bothered. “Yes,” he muttered.  
     “Interesting, go on.”  
     “It’s usually okay while I’m standing, but getting up or bending over is painful. Anything that causes that vertebrae to do more than support my weight is uncomfortable.”  
     “No one’s worried about your spinal cord? You’re at risk for a second break. If you fell, you could lose the use of your legs.”  
     He didn’t need the reminder. “Nothing to be done about it,” he sighed.  
    It was Ral’s turn to scowl and Tomik read in it that he was not being believed.  
     “Which one exactly?” the mage inquired, running the pad of a calloused finger up his spine.  
     Tomik shuddered and leaned forward, unable to help the quiver in his knees any more than he could stop his head falling onto Ral’s shoulder. “That one,” he gusted, inhaling the man’s wildfire scent and then letting it out slowly through his nose as the perpetually sore spot was examined.  
     “Sorry,” Ral whispered into his hair.       “Where else?”  
      Simple touch had no right to feel this good. It was alarming, how much he enjoyed Ral’s hands on him, even if they were pressing a little too firmly in places.     “Tomik?”  
     Words. He needed to make words. “Up,” he bit out. “Between my shoulder blades.”  
     He closed his eyes as Ral’s hand trekked upward. “Here?”  
     “Yes.”  
     “Am I hurting you? I can stop.”  
     “No.”  
     There was a smirk in the man’s tone now. “You sure?”  
     For someone who had just forgotten how to speak, Tomik found himself wanting to yell explicit things rather abruptly. Instead he nipped at the muscle in Ral’s throat, speaking against the sting left behind. “I can’t lift much, on bad days, not even my arms.”  
     “Hm,” Ral purred, the hand still cupping his ass giving a firm squeeze. “And what makes a bad day?”  
     There were a thousand things he could have said. What he chose was, “rain.”  
     “I don’t care much for rain, either,” Ral confessed softly.  
     Why had that sounded so mournful? Tomik lifted his head, needed to see the man’s expression, but before he could do as much as make eye-contact, Ral melted to his knees.  
     Tomik jolted, surprised, as the man’s hot mouth ghosted over the bulge in his trousers. His fingers went instinctively to the mage’s hair, tangling commandingly. Ral hummed his approval and the low hum against his arousal made Tomik moan a curse. The entire area around his hips was unbearably tight and he rocked forward as much as Ral’s grip would allow but it wasn’t enough. His entire body was vibrating. His balls had never been so tight. The animal living at the very core of his being was clawing at him to act, to move, to take.  
     “Easy,” Ral warned, fingers traveling around the hem of Tomik’s trousers, making his shudder.  
He didn’t want to be easy. He didn’t want to be coddled. He wanted– he wanted to– “Ral.”  
     “Yes?” the mage hummed, undoing the button and pulling the fabric down painfully slow.  
     “If you put your mouth on me,” he warned, “I won’t last.”  
     “That’s the idea.”  
     Tomik fought ahrd not to devolve into shoving the man’s smirking face into his cock. “Arrogant,” he huffed. “You’re so– gods, I wish...” But he couldn’t.  
     “What? That you could fuck my face?"  
     Tomik curled his lip at the bold statement, turned on and disgusted at once. _Why_ did he want this egotistical garbage creature so badly? "Well– yes."  
     "Try it," the mage breathed, licking a long, wet stripe from base to tip, dipping his tongue into Tomik's slit before taking it into his mouth, and then to the back of his throat.  
     "Oh, you bastard," he groaned. "You awful, perfect bastard."  
     Ral rumbled, pressing the flat of his tongue against the vein throbbing on the underside of his cock, swallowing around his head. Tomik closed his eyes and tipped his head back. It was too much to look down and catch Ral watching him, waiting and wanton and smug.  
     It was instinctual to thrust and Tomik only resisted long enough to brace himself for pain. He firmed his grip on Ral's air and breathed out, pushing his hips forward and then back, hard and fast and miraculously unencumbered. The mage took it like he was born for it, throat open and accepting. Tomik heard himself speaking, felt his mouth moving, his throat working but whatever he was saying was burnt up in the pleasure. He could have wept.  
     Instead, he came.  
     The hand he had in Ral's hair relaxed, shakily stroking as the man swallowed him down. His knees felt weak, his head light and his back— his back didn't hurt.  
     He pulled Ral off of him, hissing at the scrape of teeth. “What did you do?” he breathed.  
     Ral’s pupils were blown wide, lips parted, erection straining at the front of his trousers. The man rocked back on his heels, hands still on Tomik’s back. "Can't talk science now," the mage panted, palming his own arousal and groaning. "Can I really fuck you? It's okay, if not. Just stay still a minute and I'll—"  
     Tomik grabbed at Ral's arms, urging him back to his feet. "You can do whatever you want with me. Anything."  
     The man chuckled and opened his mouth to say something but Tomik kissed him, gracelessly, with teeth and tongue. His hands pulled open Ral's fly, his own trousers still pooled around his ankles.  
"Tomik."  
     He kicked out of the pants and shoved Ral backwards toward the sofa, mind too wrapped up in the fact that he wasn't hurting to care for caution. It felt so good to move, to be free, to be himself. It was so good and he wanted more. _Needed_ more. Because Ral would leave him soon and then this _thing_ would go with him and Tomik wasn't done with it yet.  
     "Hey, wait." Ral removed his hands from his back and circled his wrists instead. "Tomik, listen, you can't—"  
And just like that, the pain was back.  
     He whimpered, the air in his lungs going stale and still, body rigid with pain. Ral grabbed him, supporting his weight as he fell against his chest. "Breathe," the mage reminded softly.  
     "What did you do?"  
     “Come sit down."  
     Tomik grabbed the back of Ral's neck, grip punishing. "Do it again." The words were angry, spoken in a growling tone Tomik didn't even recognize as his own and free-flowing. "Please. Whatever it was, however you did it, do it again."  
     "Fine," the man huffed, "but I'm fucking you while I do it."  
     "Yes."  
     The room was a blur, his mind a haze of frustration and despair as Ral turned him and guided him back to the sofa. It hurt, but he bit his lip and kept quiet as the man laid him down. Tomik took slow breaths through his nose as the pain ebbed and flowed, sweat beading at his temples and cheeks going static.  
      “Look at me," Ral murmured.  
     He closed his eyes instead. "Please..."  
     The mage slid a hand beneath Tomik's hips, fingers splayed once more over his lower back. "Look at me, Tomik."  
His lip curled into a snarl and he gave the man his most intense glower. "I don't like that sappy shit, Zarek."  
     Ral rolled his eyes. " _And I_ don't like the idea of you thinking of somebody else while you're with me."  
If he'd been in control of his faculties, he'd have said something wry and reproachful. Instead he blurted, "how could I?"  
     He could have sworn clouds gathered in Ral's eyes, dark and billowing, ominous in their intensity and then the man shuttered them with a slow blink and Tomik watched a bitter grin stretch his features. "That's enough talking," he muttered. "Relax a little. Stop fussing."  
     “I do not fus...” Tomik trailed off, vocabulary puddling into one large, messy moan as Ral slid a slick finger into him.  
     He had no idea where Ral had gotten oil and he had just enough presence of mind to hope it wasn't some sort of gear lubricant before his lover bent forward and kissed even that small thought into oblivion.  
      Fear shot through the bliss, efficiently splicing his primal self and his civil self, when Ral's calloused fingertip moved inside of him. He tensed, parted knees quivering.  
     “R-Ral I-" he bit his lip. Shit. He did fuss, didn't he? He solemnly vowed not to make another sound of complaint while simultaneous scolding himself for being so idiotic.  
     Ral, unaware, or uncaring of his inner tangles, shushed him gently, licking at his mouth until Tomik relinquished the lip he'd been worrying. The Mage began stretching him at the same time as he forced his tongue in between his teeth. Tomik whimpered, wanting to lift from the cushions to press himself against the hard heat of Ral’s body. 

     He didn’t.  Partly for fear of pain, but mostly because he didn’t want Ral to stop. And anyway, it coudln’t possibly hurt worse than the last time the mage had put him on his back. 

     “Pay attention to me,” the man huffed into his mouth. “Look at me.”

     Tomik wasn’t sure where this need of Ral’s stemmed from, but he was more than willing to fufil it. He met his lover’s eyes and even dared to offer a small twitch of his mouth. Ral curled a finger inside of him and his entire body shivered. His breath caught, his head fuzzied, but he did not tear away from the man’s maelstrom gaze.

     Pleased, the mage smirked and added another finger.

     It hurt, but in a way that was– pleasant? He’d imagined being fucked _must_ be pleasurable, as often as he’d done it to others and had them gasping for more, but he’d never thought _he’d_ like it. Then again, if it weren’t Ral, he was almost positive he wouldn’t. And Tomik didn’t think he’d ever try it with someone else in order to find out.

     He huffed when Ral removed his fingers and glowered up at him in order to convey the full brunt of his irritation. The man smirked with lips that had seemed to lost all their color. If he’d not been needy and half-hard again already, Tomik might have noticed the man’s sweat-damp temples and tremulous limbs. As that was not the case, he simply squirmed, feeling Ral’s other hand still beneath his back, fingers pressed firmly into the area around his spine.

     Ral collapsed over him, supported by an elbow just above his shoulder, hips pressing forward. Something wet grazed Tomik’s thigh and then his abdomen, but he dismissed it as sweat, too focused on the tip of Ral’s cock at his entrance, much thicker than a pair of fingers had been.

     He moved his own hands, previously clenched in the fabric of the sofa, to explore the long plains of his lover’s body, palms settling over the firm globes of his ass and not-so-subtely bringing him forward. Ral snorted at him, but said nothing, obeying with a very un-Ral-like ease.


	12. Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is SOFT? 
> 
> Maybe?
> 
> I'm not good at soft things?

 

     It was reminiscent of being choked just before orgasm, except he was expected to do a lot more now than he had been the last time that'd happened. That was fine. Challenges were like experiments, in a way.  
     He was bleeding again. He had felt the injury tear as he'd laid Tomik down and the drain on his magic was causing his neglected body to protest. But he was going to fuck the Advokist even if it killed him. He'd waited too long to have his cock sheathed inside that perfect ass to stop now.  
     Besides, where was the fun in having limits if he didn't get to test them? And it wasn't as though his dick was having any trouble. It was just the rest of him that was wussing out.  
Tomik lifted his hips and beaded down, wanton, and Ral carefully rearranged his hand so that his fingertips remained at his lover's back, where he'd indicated pain. His magic sputtered, just as fatigued as he was, but he pushed it forward anyway, just as he pressed the head of his cock inside Tomik's body.  
     "Don't tense," he soothed when the man clenched around him.  
     "Just do it," the Advokist hissed. "It's fine if it hurts."  
     Ral just shook his head and sank in a little deeper. He didn't have the breath to argue. He wasn't going to hurt Tomik anymore than he had to, any more than he already had, especially not when he was pushing himself over his limit to keep him comfortable. Already his arm was asleep, static from the awkward angle and the consistent outpouring of electricity.  
     Tomik did that thing with his mouth again, that fucking bird-noise, like an annoyed hen, and then pushed his ass down the cushion and fully onto his dick. Ral lost concentration and moaned, thrusting hard twice before regaining himself.  
     "Sorry," he mumbled, trying to untangle the various actions he was operating at once. Or trying to operate. He was currently failing two out of three.  
     Luckily Tomik was laying still, not putting any strain on his spine. Ral closed his eyes and took a slow breath, allowing himself to focus his magic back to the man's injuries, steadying the shaking in his own bones and giving Tomik's ass time to adjust.  
     The pause backfired.  
     "Ral, you're bleeding."  
     It was weirdly hard to blink his eyes back open, but when he did, he saw Tomik's flushed face wearing a look of petulant concern. Was that a thing? "It's fine."  
     "But—"  
     "Just a popped stitch."  
     "It looks like mo—"  
     He rolled his hips.  
     The action had the desired effect and Tomik keened adorably, the sound reverberating around Ral's skull like the luring cry of a siren. His side throbbed in protest as he set a hard pace, but he didn’t have time to take that into consideration. The fire in his gut was far superior to any superficial injury and really dying here was far better than his other impending dooms.  
     Tomik’s body slithered beneath him, sputtering curses between soft breaths and interrupted only by the occasional bubble of nonsensical praise. Ral wished he could bend to kiss him, but if he adjusted his angle even that much he'd lose his grip on the magic. Hell, he might anyway. He was pretty sure he was going to short circuit soon and the incendiary tightness of Tomik’s insides were not helping.  
     His balls drew up and he bit his lip to stop a snarl. He felt his magic still as his brain fogged over, too overcome with momentary bliss to stay focused. He came hard and felt the world shift sideways in response. His stomach rolled and his limbs all shook.  
     “Ral?”  
     There were hands on him, he recognized the press of palms and the gentle flex of fingers over his sides, but his skin was too tingly to feel more than the barest whisper of skin on skin. He mourned it. Tomik had such nice hands.  
     Vision smeared, he conjured lazy focus through sheer force of will and looked down at his lover. The man was scowling at him. Ral blinked and reached out for his partner’s half-hard dick. He needed to make the man happy again. He wanted to be good for Tomik, because unsatisfactory parts were replaced. If a piece didn’t perform, it was thrown away. And if there was anything Ral did not want to be again, it was that.  
     “How are you so smart and so stupid at the same time?” Tomik snapped, batting his hand away and shoving at his shoulders. “Get off of me.”  
     “Did I–”  
     “Right now!”  
     Ral obeyed without an ounce of grace, pulling out and pushing himself back toward the end of the sofa, doing his best to fall around, rather than on, Tomik’s legs. “Sorry,” he heard himself murmur, though his own voice sounded far from him. He tried to speak again, curious about the odd distance. “Tomik.” Ah, there was a slur, too. “Your back.”  
     “I didn’t go anywhere,” the man huffed. “Do you have any liquid that’s not fucking booze?”  
     “I meant...” Wait. He shifted his foot and found that the space where Tomik had been was empty. “Hey.”  
     The answer was a whip-crack “what?”  
     Ral opened his eyes. When had he closed them? His vision was still blurry but he spotted a white-robed shape on the other side of the room, in what was supposed to be a functioning kitchenette. “How’d you get dressed so fast?”  
     “I didn’t. You passed out,” the man replied, the sound accompanied by that of clinking glass and the laborious banging of water through pipes gone unused too long. “Ral?”  
     “Huh?”  
     “Keep talking to me.”  
     “About what?”  
     “Oh, I don’t know,” Tomik huffed, kicking a pile of gears out of his way as he returned to the sofa, “maybe tell me when the last time you ate anything was? The last time you slept? Do you even know what water is?”  
     “Wet.”  
     Tomik growled his name and Ral chuckled.  
     His amusement was not well received and he earned himself a too-hard slap of a damp cloth across his forehead. He tried to shake it off but Tomik stayed it with the press of his hand. “Hold still,” the Advokist breathed. “My gods, do you have a death-wish or something?”  
     “I don’t know.”  
     “How do you not know?”  
     “Sometimes I think it’d be easier.” Oh. Wow. That sounded– well, that sounded really horrible said aloud. Horrible and pathetic. Weak. Stupid. Useless rain-mage.  
     He tried to sit up. Naked and bleeding were one thing, but naked and bleeding and emotionally vulnerable. Fuck that. No. SOS. Abort.  
     “Lay down,” Tomik entreated. “This is hard enough without you fighting me.”  
     It was only dawned on Ral then that the man had struggled to his knees to better inspect his injury. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. “You can go home.”  
     Tomik pressed a towel to the knife wound with, what Ral felt was, an unnecessary force. “Stop it.” There was an edge to his tone that told Ral it was more worry than anger. “You’re no longer allowed to make big boy decisions.”  
     “You don’t have to take care of me.”  
     “I know.” The acknowledgment was softly spoken and Tomik’s touches had gone gentle.  
     His first instinct was to spit some sort of nasty snark in response, but he was too exhausted to wrestle wit. In the end, all he managed was, “was the sex good, at least?”

     Tomik rolled his eyes. “Well, it was certainly a memorable first time.”  
     “First– wait what?”  
     “This may come as a shock,” the man snorted, “but I’m not usually the one getting fucked.”  
     “Oh.”  
     “Can you hold this?”  
     Ral moved his gaze to the small tin cup the man was holding out to him. When he tried to take it, his hand missed, wobbling stupidly to far left. Tomik made his little hen sound again and then grabbed his hand, placing the cup in his palm and closing Ral’s stubborn fingers around it. They stayed like that for a long moment before Tomik helped him rest it against his chest.  
     Their gazes met and Ral found himself wishing to be buried there, six feet under that soft earthy ground the man called irises. “Thank you,” he whispered, taking a slow drink.  
     “What can I say?” the advokist breathed. “I like having you in my debt.”  
     There was a sharp and aching pain in Ral’s chest suddenly, a thousand little shards of glass all flying at him at once. Why had that sounded so much like ‘I want you’? Why had it felt like ‘I’m staying’? Why did this all have to feel so fucking perfect?  
     He closed his eyes to dam the moisture trying to build behind them. This was a good thing. He drew a shuddering breath and turned his face into the worn upholstery. And Ral Zarek did not get to keep good things.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Come see me on Instagram! 
> 
> a.e.fox90
> 
> :)


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